


Romeo and Julian

by RawJacques



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Blood, Bodily Fluids, Cock & Ball Torture, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Public Humiliation, Racism, Slash, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-05 14:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 51,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4183515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RawJacques/pseuds/RawJacques
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young, innocent, naive, but rather well endowed Orc ventures out into the world, seeking to make a better world for all.<br/>He falls foul of the local sadistic Jarl, who tends to abduct his hold citizens, turning them into slaves in his various facilities. Including the Milking Factory...</p><p>But, Romeo doesn't fit into his new role, despite his impressive hardware. He is sentenced to public castration, when his lack of productivity is blamed on an alleged homosexual relationship with another slave.</p><p>Cue the Dragonborn, riding to the rescue to save the day. And Romeo's nuts. Maybe.<br/>It's a very difficult ordeal for both of them, but the alternative title (the Legend of the Third Coming) gives some idea as to how things pan out.</p><p>There is an equally long second half, loosely titled "The Land of Milk and Honey Co", appended to this main story. It shows what happens in the 6 months after "Strange day" in the town square. While very much a continuation of this story, it was written with different purpose and feel. Hence, the "Interim Conclusion" aka Chapter 15, wraps up part 1 for now.<br/>Part 2 is an ongoing work-in-editing, inexorably being completed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preamble

**Author's Note:**

> The characters in this story are all generic. Even the hold is not specified, although I clearly had Riften in mind (you should spot the obvious clues), and the reference to trade with Morrowind works best from that location.
> 
> Despite the sordid subject matter, this has plot. A very detailed, coherent, and (I hope) clever plot. There's also a juicy twist in the tail of the tale. The graphic scenes of Romeo's acute distress while he awaits his punishment, and what the Dragonborn puts him through, are all to amplify (oh my, how appropriate) the outcome. Not just the outcome of Strange Day itself , but the outcome six months later, as Part 2 unfolds. 
> 
> There are contemporary references (analogies) that have no place in Skyrim. Runaway trains, nuclear firestorms.... They stand out when editing, but when reading the story, they give a much better image of what I'm trying to describe. I can't think of any Skyrim references that could come close to either of those two examples. If possible, I did stick to Lore, but sometimes, you have to break immersion for the greater good (I'm laughing - that's one of my story memes I just used...).
> 
> There are a quite a few repeating patterns (memes) that crept in. "Just that kind of guy". "Sometimes...XYZ... for the greater good". "Smart guy, that Romeo." Part 2 has a lot of "Snowballing", and "What goes around, comes around with compound interest". The idea of "more, _much_ more" runs throughout. I was having fun with it, rather than writing anything too seriously. Please forgive me for that. Besides, this is my first serious attempt at writing, after 35 years rusting since high school. It's here, because I want to share it, warped kinks and all. 
> 
> I wrote many things twice, sometimes four or five times. I love all of the different versions. Sometimes I tried to bludgeon them all into the one story. So, you might feel that things are a little too repetitive in places. Sorry about that. I have spent a long time trying to cut, edit, and improve. But in the end, managing this beast is more difficult than the "Inter-network-database" that emerges right at the very end of part 2. (Yeah, there are some corny jokes like that in it too!)
> 
> The story of "Strange Day" itself came to me in a bizarre dream, while I was still early in the game. (Yes, while-I-was-asleep dream - mine are like watching a movie, and often memorable). It was a "second start" (after the first savegame corrupted), so I was mostly exploring and doing the smaller side missions, and discovering lots of things I wished I could do, but was denied. I ceased playing, to write it up, over two weeks. Part 2 (the next six months) developed out of my frustrations with the game limitations. So, I wrote about all the things I wished I could do, that the game would not let me do. 
> 
> Oh, and Style:  
> This is written from the point of view of the Dragonborn, narrating the tale to an audience around a campfire. It comes close to, and sometimes breaches, the "4th wall". The invisible wall between stage actors and audience. I know you are there, reading. And I "talk" to you. It wasn't a deliberate choice on my part; the story just came out that way. I happen to enjoy stories written like that, and I hope it won't spoil your enjoyment. But I know some folk don't like that style, hence this little forewarning.

# Romeo and Julian - a Skyrim tragedy that never was.

## Also known as The Legend of the Third Coming.

#### Sometimes also known as The Legend of the Third Cumming, depending on how sexually liberated you are.

 

### 1\. Preamble:

I want to tell you about one of those significant moments of history, when impossibly unlikely coincidences add up to a vanishingly small probability of outcome. When the strangest things happen by the slimmest of margins, to change the future in ways no-one could possibly predict.

Much like, say, the dragon attack at Helgen, that rescued the Dragonborn from an imminent beheading. Who can say what Skyrim would look like today, if Alduin had arrived mere _moments_ later?

These are events so strange, that you would simply deny they had ever happened, unless you had witnessed them for yourself. But I’m well used to such strangeness. For not only was I present at Helgen, and personally rescued from that imminent beheading, but I was also there on that equally strange day, less than a year later.

This story takes place in a nasty, evil corner of Skyrim. A place where crime is not so much frowned upon, as one of the jarl’s favorite pastimes. An unsavory, hateful place, that offends everything Talos stands for. And on that strange day, I was driven to intervene in the strangest of ways.

In less than an hour, out of the blue, a flash flood signaled the start a rising tide of inexorable change that has unimaginably altered not just the lives of those swamped in the town square, not just the lives of those condemned to live and die in that unpleasant hold, but the lives of a great many people all over Skyrim, and even beyond.

The civil war may be over, but a bloodied land is still struggling to recover because of the ongoing dragon attacks. There is hope, for I am slowly winning the battle against those dragons, but there is still much pain and blood and guts being spilled. And yet these events are mere back-story, and have little place here.

 

Because on that strange day, I was introduced to a particularly well-built young Orc called Romeo.

He was not exactly enjoying the warm, sunny morning. Not one little bit.

He did not even acknowledge my existence, when I first met the freakish brute.

Our first handshake brought such filthy looks of utter contempt and hatred, I was unnerved like never before in my life.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. All will become clear, in time.

I first need to tell you how our paths came to cross on that strange day.


	2. The Place of Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The place that no-one ever wants to go to...

### 2\. The Place of Nightmares.

In this nasty corner of Skyrim, the local jarl had some very evil ideas indeed. His reign of terror was enforced by brutal oppression and fear. His personal guard consisted of some of the most obnoxious, callous thugs that ever lived, who thought nothing of instant execution for anyone that so much as _looked_ at the jarl funny. He was entrenched in power by surrounding himself with enough brown-nosing noble houses of equal depravity, that the status quo seemed unbreakable.

I love challenges like that. I am a Talos worshiper, committed to righting wrongs and fighting injustice. This particular hold had really caught my attention in all of the wrong ways, since I first ventured here a few months ago.

Things were great if you were part of the “in” crowd around the jarl. You could literally get away with murder, with little more than a slap on the wrists. Meanwhile, if you were _not_ part of the “in” crowd, your family was more likely to be wailing at your misfortune as the murder victim, and staring at the bleakest of all possible futures. Everyone else was literally fodder for the jarl’s whimsical cannon.

The mantra of all those “in” was that they should never do anything that caused them to be cast “out”. For there would be nowhere in Skyrim to hide from the jarl’s petty wrath. He was just that sort of guy.

It was difficult to see how this septic hold could survive economically. Until you realized that the hold was not at all prosperous, and whatever was required for survival was produced locally, via coercion. Actually, that’s a euphemism. Slavery, would be the more accurate term.

The jarl sanctioned a small press gang to identify which of his lesser, but nevertheless useful, citizens, to target. They would then be arrested under false pretenses, imprisoned indefinitely as he procrastinated over a trial, before they would simply get “lost in the system”. Another euphemism, meaning they were permanently reassigned to the various slave labor camps that were dotted discretely about the hold, where the basic foods and materials to keep the hold alive were forcibly whipped and beaten out of the unwilling human machinery.

The slaves were quite literally worked to death, earning meager food and shelter proportional to their output. It was supposed to encourage them to work harder, but someone had got the numbers wrong, and it _always_ resulted in a slow death by starvation for everyone unfortunate enough to become part of “the system”.

Sadly, this jarl was not the sort of guy that you dared admitting a mistake to. So the sustenance error went on to cause the unnecessary deaths of hundreds of innocent people, just because one incompetent administrator was not prepared to risk his butt correcting his critical clanger. What the jarl did not know, did not get punished. Because everyone dreaded the sort of punishment the jarl would dish out.

The slave camps, also known as “correctional facilities”, were a badly kept secret. Everyone knew they existed, but nothing was official. Many arrests were done so secretly, the families could only file “missing persons” reports. And no-one dared to make inquiries as to the actual whereabouts of those imprisoned, because that was an invitation to make themselves the next press gang target.

The jarl pretended to himself that he was “making use of emergency powers to redirect a limited workforce for the maximum benefit of the hold.” In other words, his maximum benefit, and everyone else could die whilst maximizing it. He was, as has already been mentioned, just that sort of guy.

But there was one particularly awful slave facility very much more secretive than the rest....

 

Many years ago, some archaeologists had discovered a bizarre water-powered Dwemer device, and presented it to the jarl. His experimentation led directly to the establishment of a new facility. Called the “milking factory”, it seemed like a mis-naming of a cowshed. But it had an all-male slave population, and the milking machine had only one suction tube per milking station. And I sincerely hope you are adult enough reading that, to know what it implies. If not, stop reading this NOW, and go and watch TV cartoons instead.

The milking factory was a place of nightmares. The men held captive there presented themselves at the machine every hour, on the hour. For sixteen hours a day. Arms and legs were permanently shackled in very limiting restraints to prevent escape, because there was no use for any appendages other than the one proving they were male.

Between their milkings, they were kept locked in solitary confinement in damp, dingy cells. The jarl had decided that an hour was long enough for any man to recuperate, and that he should not endanger that recovery by doing anything so obviously detrimental as reading a book, chatting, or sleeping. Instead, the men should spend each hour thinking about how magnificently they were going to perform at the next milking. Wow. This jarl was REALLY that sort of guy.

The poor souls given the wonderful privilege of feeding the milking machine were specially selected from any citizen unfortunate enough to have attracted the attention of the jarl’s press gang. As they waited in the barracks jail for their non-trial, they would be intimately examined and assessed, and if they were unlucky enough, they were diverted from their intended slave camp destination and sent to the milking factory instead.

Ladies, you will never understand how fortunate you are to never have to face the desecration of that scrutiny, and the dreaded reassignment. If ever there was a fate worse than death, this was it. Because, while no-one ever got to leave any slave camp other than in a box nailed shut, the milking factory was the one place that every man _really_ wanted to avoid.

Ironically, the place frustrated the press gang just as much as the wretched victims. Often, a carefully selected target intended to fill a vacancy, say, in the sawmill camp, simply did not arrive, having been deemed a suitable candidate for “the other place” once he was abducted - sorry, arrested - and lost in the system. It made the press gang’s work that much harder, but of course officially they were all ecstatic about it, because, y’know, the jarl was the sort of guy that you never dared to express any grievance to.


	3. Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like an Orc to the slaughter...

### 3\. Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?

Romeo was very much an exception to the press gang modus operandi. He was targeted _directly_ for the milking factory. And the naive, innocent young Orc was completely oblivious to the awful fate they planned for him. 

He had grown up in the safe surroundings of the Stronghold tucked away in a secluded corner of that unpleasant region. Tall, hirsute, with imposing presence, his good breeding gave him by far the most phenomenal physique in the Stronghold, and his bulging muscles commanded the utmost respect despite his young age. Well, at least, they _should_ have commanded respect. 

Perhaps his name gives his secret away. Romeo was a lover, not a fighter. He had the power to smite all before him, and yet he had never so much as made a fist, never mind thrown a punch. He was not really a pacifist - it was just that thoughts of aggression and violence never entered his mind. His reluctance to use his supreme strength and get physical, was destined to cause him unimaginable suffering. 

He would delicately play with the butterflies, frolic in the flowerbeds, and feel weak at the knees at the sight of game being slaughtered. He was the perfect gentle giant, delighting in the warm fuzzy things, and distressed by any hint of hostility. 

He preferred to run away and hide in a corner than scrap with his peers. He was mostly left alone - those peers quickly learned they could not taunt or goad him into a playfight, nor could they touch him in an ambush. He never got hurt, easily and effortlessly blocking any attacking blows. But never once did he consider hitting back - he just wasn’t wired that way. 

Everyone laughed at the namby-pamby “weakling”, ridiculing his perceived cowardice. But even as he was teased, he was not rejected. He was still fondly regarded as one of their own by the other Orcs, even if no-one took him seriously. 

He was not exactly a pretty face, either. Perhaps average, _maybe_ even good looking to other Orcs. But, and it’s a _very **BIG**_ but, he was grotesquely, scarily terrifying to everyone else. A wide jaw housed massive fangs that reached right up his cheeks, almost to his eyes, contorting his mouth into an even more frightening grimace than usual. A severely frowning brow and small red eyes added a piercing glare to the usual scowling expression. The bony spikes on his forehead just added to the menace. To the other Orcs in the Stronghold, this was nothing particularly unusual of course, and as far as Romeo was aware, he was quite normal. But then, he had never left the Stronghold before.....

Dismayed that he could not be persuaded to become the warrior he so obviously should be, the elders assigned him to work in the mine, digging and hauling ore. Which just enlarged and honed his shredded body all the more. But this physical future was a severe disappointment to Romeo, whose sharp, clever mind was wasted and ignored in the tunnels. 

You see, he had dreams and ideas even bigger than his musculature, and horizons that reached far beyond the Stronghold walls. He was inspired by tales of other Orcs who had made their mark in the world, like the Librarian at the Mage’s College, and the fabled Gourmet. He had vastly greater ambitions than a simple life of mining. 

The call of destiny became irresistible for the young man. Frustrated with the narrow-minded thinking of his clan, and his very limited future in the Stronghold, he packed up a few clothes, said a regretful goodbye to his parents, and optimistically set off into the big, bad, unknown, world. 

 

He was looking for a place where he could share his thoughts and ideas. Where he could build a better world _with_ everyone, _for_ everyone. Honorable, even noble intent. But don’t forget what hold he was in......

 

His first few encounters on the road did not go well. He was puzzled and upset as people ran away from him, screaming in terror. He simply did not comprehend how much his scary appearance put the fear of all nine Divines, all together, all at once, into these strangers. 

Everything about him shouted “male aggression”. Romeo dressed himself to be comfortable, but the wrong impression started with the token bits of modest clothing that highlighted rather than hid his bristling strength. Creaking leather straps strained to hold his skimpy furs in place when he moved. The scant cladding exposed the thick carpet of hair covering his epic pectorals and ripped abs. His bulging biceps and thundering thighs were on full public display too. Every muscle was so cut and defined it was like his grey-green skin had been sprayed on. He was all prime beef and totally fat-free, and 100% natural organic. But he _looked_ more like a steroid abusing freak, than a Greek Adonis. 

Add to that the stalagmites in his square jaw, the bony spikes on his forehead, his barbarian haircut and the rough stubble on his face, and his whole visage was feral and uncivilized. His growling, rumbling voice made the ground tremble almost as much as the quivering bundles of nerves crapping themselves in front of him. 

But it was those arms....... Romeo would run towards those strangers with those gargantuan guns reaching out, wanting to greet them with a warm hug. And they would drop their belongings, and flee for their lives in blind panic, thinking they were about to be savagely ripped apart, or eaten alive, or something. 

The more he tried to explain himself to the petrified people he cornered, the more they shat themselves, before passing out. He simply had no clue what everyone was so afraid of. We already know how meek and gentle he is. What a pity that everyone else was too scared stiff by his threatening, intimidating appearance to see that he wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , harm a hair on their heads. 

 

He was feeling deeply hurt that no-one wanted to talk to him, highly demoralized by these instant rejections, when the road brought him to the jarl’s hometown. The well trained guards overcame their initial instincts and stood their ground to do their duty. Their fear of retribution from the jarl for abandoning their posts was even bigger than their fear of Romeo. Which says a lot about the kind of guy the jarl was. 

They even allowed him into the town, after patting him down and finding no weapons, then charging him five times the usual extortionate entrance fee, and warning of dire consequences if he caused any trouble.

It seemed the townsfolk were more used to unusual sights, and even though they did not quite react in blind panic, everyone still scattered away from him, like he was carrying a plague. At least the traders in the marketplace would sell him things once they had seen his gold. He learned on that day that money talks loudest of all. A trivial lesson, perhaps, but a critically significant one too. 

The inn was prepared to let him sleep on some straw in the basement for a price. Better yet, the flow of ale and mead meant that the patrons tolerated his presence, and even seemed willing to talk to him about life, the universe, and everything. He could buy their ears with tankards, it seemed. But the drunkards made little sense, contributing nothing useful to their conversations. He could already tell this was probably not the place he was looking for. 

 

The next morning, some of the braver townsfolk began “saying things” to him. Nasty, hurtful, spiteful things, and never from within 20 feet, so he had no chance to ask them what they meant. One insult after another was hurled at him, as the torrent of verbal abuse became self-perpetuating, inspiring everyone to unleash their vicious tongues. He was now getting a very clear message that he was not welcome. 

He had never experienced such racism before, and his confusion was only slightly less deep than the hurt to his feelings. Everyone seemed to hate him at first sight. He meant no-one any harm, and dearly wished to make new friends, but it was now obvious that these people did not want to know him.

By that afternoon, he unhappily decided he would move on. But he chose to wait until the next morning to resume his journey, while thinking about where to go next. Bad mistake... You can already sense where this tragedy is going, right? That’s the jarl’s hometown he’s in, and the press gang has spotted him. And his... _-ahem-_ unique features.

It is a credit to the press gang, really, because it takes any non-Orc immense discipline of mind to observe anything beyond that monstrous face and massive muscles. It requires supreme concentration to take in all of the details, and even _notice_ the staggeringly obscene equipment swinging between his legs. His relatively tiny waist emphasized the huge boulders and third leg challenging (and mostly defeating) his straining, skimpy coverings. The curvaceous bulges left nothing to the imagination as his monumental male monuments proudly revealed themselves. 

In fact, once you _had_ noticed that he was definitely a HE, the rest of his formidable facade tended to fade into insignificance, so entrancing was the extraordinary sight. It is thus not surprising that the press gang saw only one possible future for him. There was only one muscle they were interested in, and completely overlooked how perfectly all of his other burly brawn suited a role as a workhorse in the mines or lumber mills. 

Romeo’s abduction would not be like any other. He was not going to be diverted from another slave camp. He was going directly to the place of nightmares. And he had no idea whatsoever about this malevolent plot for his destiny. 

Just two days out of his home Stronghold, he did not even know that slave camps existed, never mind the unspeakable horror of the milking factory. You have to pity his naive innocence, as he stumbled blindly into grave danger, blissfully unaware of the extreme threat.

And so, on only his third day in town, as he went to the market in the early morning to buy some more supplies before resuming his journey, Romeo found himself aggressively tackled from behind by an army of guards. They wrestled him to the ground, and pressed his face into the dirt while his hands were bound tightly behind his back with three times the usual bindings. The press gang had noted those beefy biceps too, after all. 

He was marched off to the jail, and secretly transferred to the milking factory late that night. Romeo was perplexed by it all, and of course, it never occurred to him for even one moment that he should defend himself and fight back. It all had to be a big misunderstanding, and would be resolved quickly enough. Wouldn’t it? He had done nothing wrong. Or had he?

His crime? “Someone said” (anonymously of course) that Romeo had insulted the jarl, criticizing his policies and inciting insurgence. Treason, in a word. He had _actually_ said the jarl should improve trade relations with Morrowind, seeing as this was the nearest town to the borders, with an excellent road link to the centre of the neighboring province, and good connections to Cheydinhal and Imperial City in Cyrodiil. The increased flow of trade would make the town the economic hub of Skyrim. Smart guy, that Romeo. 

Unfortunately the jarl had no use for his brains either. It was his body that was destined for indentured service. Of course, the accusation had just been the excuse for the jarl to recruit another member (in every sense of the word) for his milking factory.

By the next morning, Romeo was just another milking slave. He was stripped naked. His wrists and ankles were shackled into thick iron cuffs and even thicker chains that crippled his mobility. And he was immediately subject to the hourly milking routine. 

By the time he worked out the seriousness of his predicament, and that he should perhaps resist, the opportunity for resistance was long gone. His fate was well and truly sealed already. Welcome to the milking factory, Romeo. You will spend the rest of your days worshiping hourly at the jarl’s milking machine. 

But there were problems ahead. Several problems, actually. Several big problems. Well, several _size related_ problems, at least.

 

The true immensity of Romeo’s endowment was only revealed at the first milking. Anyone who had previously thought themselves well-hung, was now firmly moved into the “micro-penis” category, dwarfed alongside Romeo’s elephantitis. 

The naked Orc discovered self-consciousness, as the other slaves in the queue gave him a wide berth, not looking at his face or body, but staring rudely at the massive weaponry adorning his groin. He stood there nervously, shamefully exposed, and cringing in embarrassed discomfort at the visual violation. The bemused guards just shook their heads in astonishment. 

The queue moved quickly. The jarl’s machine powered multiple hoses, each one leading to a separate milking stall. At the end of each hose there was a valve isolating a small, open ended metal tube. Every stall had a guard in attendance, to make sure the slave was properly fettered, to fit and remove the tube, and operate the valve. Most of the men in front of him only took a minute or two, to do their duty. 

When his turn came, he shuffled towards the vacant milking stall. His ankle chains engaged a hook on the floor, and his wrist chains were grappled by a hoist that pulled his arms so high overhead, he ended up on tiptoes. A long time ago, one disgruntled slave had vented his frustration, and smashed the hardware in one of the stalls. So now there were these preventative measures to incapacitate the slave being milked, to make sure he could do no harm. A little pelvic thrusting was all any slave could manage while his seed was being extracted.

The guard stared for a moment at the oversized organ, then at the dainty tube, then back at Romeo, pondering this new variant of a “square peg in a round hole” problem. He shrugged, roughly grabbed Romeo’s penis, and tried to ram it into the end of the tube. Romeo winced as the head of his flaccid penis jammed tight, baulking at further penetration. It took two guards applying all the force they could muster, hauling on his cock and shoving the tube, all while Romeo yelped in pain, before his helmet was just about crushed into the end of the tube. Huffing and puffing, they gave up molesting him any further. 

To say that the “one size fits all” suction tube did not fit Romeo’s whopper, would be a serious understatement. The painfully tight fit was a cruel chastity device for him, cutting off any erection and closing the urethra completely. There was no way the device could even suck anything from the prostate gland, never mind induce an ejaculation. Five minutes later the valve was closed, still bone dry. The guard yanked the tube free, ripping and tearing the sensitive flesh. Romeo’s eyes were on stalks, as he suppressed a mild scream. 

The virgin Orc took most of the morning trying to work out what in Tamriel was going on. His passive nature meant that no-one in the Stronghold had shown any sexual interest in him whatsoever. And while he knew about the birds and the bees, it wasn’t exactly something he had first hand experience of. Besides, the milking factory environment was hardly the most erotically stimulating of places. 

All of the stalls had exactly the same equipment, so they were all equally constrictive for him. His glans was so torn, sore, and bleeding, he had to bite his tongue throughout every viciously vain attempt to sheath his cock in a milking tube. 

As the hours went by, the guards were showing no sympathy. Perhaps they did not try quite so hard to stuff his oversized cock into the undersized tube, but they all treated him just as harshly. The jarl had decreed that he, just like all of the other milking slaves, were worthless pieces of meat, that the guards should handle as brutally and sadistically as possible. They were criminals, had no rights, deserved no compassion, and had value only in as much semen as they could deliver. In Romeo’s case, that was none at all. But the guards still had to do their job, and put him through the hourly routine, even as Romeo was clearly more trouble than he was worth. 

By afternoon, he had worked out what was expected from him, having closely observed the other slaves performing their duty. He even tried to prime himself with some masturbation in the cell beforehand. He was not so much dripping precum all the way to the machine, as mining the floor with booby traps of slimy puddles. One unwary guard went skating, receiving a twisted ankle to remind him to watch his step in future. 

Romeo was hoping the tube would suck out whatever his foreplay had put in his shaft. But there was no way his engorged glans could connect with the tube, as the machine failed to get any grip at all. The apparatus would fall to the floor if a guard did not hold it in place. Instead of extracting the bountiful harvest filling his urethra, ready and waiting for the taking, it feebly sucked air as the disinterested guards went through the motions without trying to milk him effectively. And with his hands secured high overhead, he could not even squeeze the precious fluid out himself. The only bonus was that there was no way the guards could stuff his turgid todger into the tube, sparing him further torture.

Once again the machine remained dry, and he was sent back to his cell, liberally laying some more lubrication landmines with the liquid still leaking from his cock. Over time, the machine rarely registered any fluid being extracted. Actually it never “extracted” anything - it just sometimes accidentally caught a few drops that seeped naturally from his eager equipment. 

It looked like someone had made a huge mistake gauging his potential performance by his sheer size. Well, in truth, that wasn’t the mistake - they were quite right about his _potential_ performance. The milking factory simply did not have the right tool to make proper use of his tool. But there was nothing more he could do. He was damned whatever he tried. Everything proved futile. Everything seemed useless. _He_ seemed useless. 

Worst of all, even though it was clear from that very first milking that he did not belong there, he was now a committed slave of the milking factory, and there was simply no escape from that, ever. So it was not just his milking potential that was lost. All of the other job options that could have utilized his strapping build were entirely wasted too. Who would dare to admit to making an assignment mistake, and send him to another slave camp? Don’t forget the sort of guy the jarl was.

And so, the meaningless ritual continued as it had begun. The milking machine suckled without satisfaction at Romeo’s cock, hour after hour, day after day, week after week, month after month. He was having the worst possible nightmare in the place of nightmares. 

This was destined to be Romeo’s entire future. 

So much for his big dreams. They had turned into the _never-ending_ nightmare. 

So much for his ambitions. His impotence at the machine mirrored his impotence to direct his destiny. He’d have been better off staying in the Stronghold mine. 

Oh, the disappointment. Oh, the misery. Oh, the tragedy. Oh, the _horror_. 

 

Romeo had been there for about a year, miserably failing to deliver anything, when new circumstances disrupted his mind-numbing existence. It would lead directly to that strange day when everything changed. Things were about to take a serious turn for the worse. No, that was not a typo. I really do mean, _far worse_ than they already were......


	4. To the Chopping Block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the same chopping block as Helgen, but something else is due to be chopped off.  
> Warning: gratuitous public humiliation and CBT

### 4\. To the Chopping Block.

The hold had been steadily losing people for a long time. While the civil war losses and dragon attacks were blamed for that, the truth was that most were driven away by the increasingly likely probability of becoming a jarl’s slave. The exodus meant there were simply not enough candidates for acquisition, to replenish the natural attrition of the slaves in general. Numbers were stretched dangerously thin, in all of the slave camps. Production everywhere was barely enough to keep the hold functioning. But no-one dare tell the jarl his “policies” were failing. The messenger was guaranteed to get shot, or something far worse. The jarl was just that sort of vindictive guy.

Romeo’s crunch point came when a nasty bout of food poisoning killed off many of the weaker milking factory slaves. The production level dropped significantly below the minimum daily quota demanded, and resisted all efforts to recover. The factory simply did not have enough productive slaves anymore, and there were no more reinforcements for the jarl’s press gang to target. Just as the milking factory was running dry, so the hold was running dry of people.

The jarl noticed the deficit. Irritated that he should have to get personally involved in this minor crisis, he demanded a detailed audit of the daily production of each and every slave. The factory manager was required to explain the shortfall in supply, and why it could not be improved. He would be joining the slaves at the machine if his report was unsatisfactory.

However, the man was too skilled at self preservation to say that the problem was the bad fit of the equipment that the jarl himself had personally designed. So, he closely spied on all of the slaves for a few days, and found other excuses to blame. Whether real, or a product of “creative accounting”, his butt was covered, regardless. Of course, he blamed all of the tools except the one really responsible.

Romeo’s poor performance was instantly exposed, glaringly obvious for all to see. But the manager had to explain not just low production, but zero. So, his report alleged Romeo had established a homosexual relationship with one of the other slaves. He noted that Romeo and his partner took every opportunity to flirt with each other. Mealtimes especially. They exchanged touches and held hands and rubbed up against each other whenever possible. They were sometimes even brazen enough to kiss, risking a severe beating if the guards saw them. Allegedly these two men also took every chance they could to cavort together in their cells. The excessive consumption of water in the showers was also conveniently attributed to these two scrubbing each other for far longer, and far more _intimately_ , than was strictly necessary.

The illicit relationship was thus blamed for squandering all of Romeo’s precious milk, leaving nothing for the jarl’s machine to suck out of him. Any technical expert could easily challenge the accuracy of that assessment, but it sounded good, and convinced those that mattered. Well, it convinced the jarl. No one else mattered.

 

The jarl was not happy, to put it mildly. Enraged that Romeo was discharging himself into another slave, instead of saving it for the machine, he concocted a wickedly malicious, deliciously vile punishment. He ordered that Romeo should be castrated. Publicly. With as much shameful disgrace, suffering and degradation as possible.

He even went so far as to declare an auction of the Orc’s testicles, allowing the winner not just the privilege of mounting, wearing, or consuming the matching trophies, but also having the pleasure of cutting them off. Yup, you’ve guessed it. The jarl was just that sort of _nasty_ guy.

The jarl had seriously considered auctioning Romeo’s phallus, too. But he decided it would be a crueler penalty to leave him shooting blanks, than unable to shoot at all. Besides, that way he could be returned to the milking machine for permanent exhibition of his humiliating impotence in front of his alleged boyfriend afterwards. What can I say? The jarl was just that sort of viciously spiteful guy.

 

And so it was, a few days later, that Romeo found himself sweating under the hot sun, spread-eagled over a log in the town square. He was totally immobilized, with his wrists and ankles securely lashed to iron rings anchored in the ground, painfully arching his back over the log. The wood pressed against his buttocks, lifting his own log high into the air. This uncomfortable posture quite literally raised the profile of his very prominent package.

He had been locked down at dawn, even though the auction was not due until noon. The jarl wanted plenty of time to allow the entire hold to have as good an ogling of the ogre* as possible.  
(* _Yeeees, alright, he was an Orc, but to the jarl he might as well have been an ogre. And it spoils the alliteration otherwise._ )

The display presentation went that extra mile of distasteful malice. Thin leather strips lassoed each bollock individually, and pulled them tightly to opposite sides over his thighs, as far as his scrotum would stretch, before being nailed to the log. This would not be a single cut to remove both nuts together. Oh, no. Each testicle was to be separately separated. Because the jarl thought that watching Romeo’s horrified anguish and excruciating pain after losing one bollock, with the other still to be lopped off, would be an exquisite moment of torture to savor. One more time: The jarl was just that sort of..... _sadistic bastard_.

As has already been suggested, these were not regular gonads. Each testicle was at least the size of a fist. His flaccid penis was bigger than most fully erect human models. But on this strange day, the severe bondage had aroused Romeo, and his stiff shaft was all of a foot long, and three inches in diameter. It had been standing to attention ever since the guards had yanked the slipknots tight and stretched his balls to their limit at dawn. The inflatable skyscraper had been dominating the skyline all morning.

Under normal circumstances, if you saw his naked manliness pointing in your direction, you would instantly wet yourself. Or shit yourself. Or most probably both simultaneously. Or, if you found him _attractive_ , and there must be _someone_ that does, even if it is only his mother, you would wet yourself, shit yourself, and wet yourself the other way**. Again, all simultaneously.  
(** _regardless_ of you being male or female - it works for both sexes.)

And yet today, his vulnerable predicament emasculated those formidable features. Totally exposed on display like he was, his very public embarrassment attracted nothing but ridicule and scornful disdain from the crowd. Exactly as the jarl had wanted.

 

It is difficult to imagine a more cruel or unusual punishment, as he lay there for susceptible hours. The bondage reduced him to a puny weakling, belittling his supreme strength. He was sweating profusely, making his green skin glisten and matting his body hair. Who could say whether it was because of the warm sun, his strenuous but ineffective struggles, or fear? Or all three. And all without a shred of clothing to spare his modesty in front of the sniggering, sneering, taunting onlookers.

The mob instinct of the crowd had taken over. He was totally defenseless, and everyone was laying into him, verbally and physically. No-one dared to feel sorry for the helpless Orc. They were mostly just grateful it wasn’t themselves sprawled over the log. Because, they all knew what sort of guy the jarl was.

I did say Romeo was not particularly enjoying that warm sunny morning of the strange day one little bit, didn’t I? At least he was getting some fresh air and sunshine, and the milking machine was not sucking ineffectually at the end of his cock every hour, for the first time in a year. But that’s hardly a silver lining, is it?

For his original contrived crime, after a year of imprisonment and hourly milking, Romeo was now destined to be turned into a eunuch in a very public mutilation. The harrowing sentence had already broken his spirit, but the prolonged persecution of the morning reduced him to tears. He whimpered and whined, as his one-sided fight against the bindings merely chafed his wrists and ankles, and his nuts ached as the leather strips constantly reminded him of his inevitable gelding. The crowd snorted in derision at the pathetic sounds of the sniveling creature.

“What have I done to deserve this?”, Romeo lamented. Life seemed so grossly unfair.

I agreed with him completely.


	5. Enter the Dragonborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hero investigates, and doesn't like the view, in _almost_ every way.

### 5\. Enter the Dragonborn.

I had only recently been made a Thane of this despicable hold. I killed the dragon that had been terrorizing the nearby villages only last month, and had done a few good deeds for the impoverished citizens of the hold, as well as some of the more important houses of the town. This was not a popular or pleasant place to live, and I was already determined that I would have to make things change for the better over time. Talos demanded that of me.

I had been traveling on yet another important quest, and had chosen, by sheer good fortune, or possibly supernatural influence, the route that took me through the village on the hold border. Had I chosen the other path, I would not have heard about the incredible auction to be held the day after tomorrow in the hold capital.

It all started there. That was the first amazingly unlikely coincidence that led our paths to cross on the strangest of strange days. I look back in humble awe when I see just how slim the chances were, that I might become involved with Romeo’s horrific fate. Because never before has “being in the right place, at the right time” been so critically significant. Or lucky. Or fated, depending on your beliefs.

 

As the innkeeper shared the mind-boggling auction details, it was clear that my mission would have to wait. This was something that required immediate action. Romeo’s knackers had a deadline that simply could not be missed.

The more rumors she shared with me, about the slave camps, and about the secret milking factory, the more I was outraged. It seemed _preposterous_ that the jarl should auction a man’s testicles purely out of spite against his _alleged_ homosexual relationship. Which was also merely one man’s accusation, and not proven. But hey, the original incarceration was not exactly legitimate either.

Injustice upon injustice. I was seeing red, and finding it difficult to bottle my anger.

I was suddenly taking a very strong disliking to this jarl. I had been too busy to really notice before, but now I could clearly see the sort of guy he was. And while the battle for Romeo’s nuts was the first and obvious skirmish, this also felt like it would be the opening salvo of a much bigger war against the jarl himself.

All diplomatic battles are best fought from within, so I resolved to put my new Thane status to good use, and fight this particular confrontation without bloodshed. I set off before dawn the next morning for the town. I had only that one day to investigate, before the auction deadline forced me to decide whether to commit to the declaration of hostilities, or accept the Orc’s fate as just and deserved. I spent the rest of that day discretely asking anyone and everyone I could find, what they knew about the Orc, where he had come from, what crime he had committed, what they knew about the milking factory, and so on.

 

I flexed my Thane muscle to persuade the gate guards to tell me about how Romeo had just walked up to them one day, and after they had searched him and found no weapons, and was prepared to buy his way into the town, they had let him in. He was fearsome to behold, but in spite of his deep growling voice, the _words_ he actually spoke had carried no threat. He had made no aggressive moves, and complied with their search demands, which left them totally confused. Because, he _looked_ like he was there to assault everyone. But his demeanor said otherwise.

My favorite drinking buddy at the inn vaguely recalled some green skinned guy with bad teeth buying him some ale, and waffling on about economic something-or-other, before being flattened by the guards. He hadn’t seen him again after that.

Some of the market traders recalled he had bought stuff from them, and been surprisingly courteous while he asked lots of questions. He had been an excellent customer on the whole, allaying their initial fears he was going to mug them at fist-point. When Romeo first showed up, most had considered closing their stalls, but the lure of gold was too strong. They had all decided to chance it, and just let him take whatever he wanted if he threatened to beat them up. But they had all been gobsmacked when he had asked for their prices, haggled nicely, then paid them in full. And they were flabbergasted when he politely _thanked_ them for trading with him. He was not the degenerate criminal they had first presumed.

 

Then there was the other side of the story. Most of the citizens I asked, remembered fleeing in blind panic when they first clapped eyes on the beastly barbarian. 'What had the gate guards been thinking, to let such a _repulsive monster_ enter the town? This was a nice enough place. There was no room for the likes of _him_ here. He should go back to the wilds where he belonged.' Hmmmm.

When I asked what Romeo had actually said or done to make them think such things, most had no answer. Some said you just had to _look_ at him to know what he was like - it was that _obvious_. A few mentioned him running towards them with arms reaching out to grab them. And of course they had fled before being assaulted and most likely raped by the savage savage. They all seemed convinced enough of what Romeo was like. Except it didn’t fit with what the gate guards and traders had told me. Hmmmm.

 

It is significant to note that, even though Romeo had only been in town for a few days just over one year ago, absolutely _everyone_ remembered him with crystal clarity. The first impression he made, was indelibly imprinted on everyone that had seen him.

I saw why for myself, as I watched the man-mountain with the repugnant face escorted into the town square at dawn the next morning.

Like any other non-Orc, I felt an instinctive reaction to flee at first sight. Yes, even me. I felt less threat from any of the dragons I have fought. And that was in spite of the trussed up Orc presenting me no real danger whatsoever. I might be dragonborn, but I am still only human.

I had to forcibly remind myself that Romeo was just another of Talos’ children, too. The _same_ as me underneath that... _different_... exterior. But it was almost impossible to ignore that irrational gut instinct. I now understood what the townsfolk had meant. But that made the evidence of the guards and traders _much more significant_.

Romeo hobbled along. He was naked, except for the heavy shackles that had crippled him for a year. Six guards each held individual tethers strung around his neck, like they were taking some rabid dog for a walk, but more likely to keep them safely out of reach of his fists. Those big hands could make for some serious clubs, with the extra weight of the shackles behind them, if he could get close enough to take a swing at one of them. Another six guards provided a seriously well-armed escort for back-up.

They made him sit on the log, and stretch his legs towards one of the iron rings. One ankle was bound to it viciously tightly with strong rope. The other ankle was tied to a rope passed through another ring. Five guards took up the slack, ready to haul for all they were worth, before the shackle was released. I confess, I had to admire their ruthless efficiency, taking no risks, and showing no mercy.

With his legs spread apart and secured, he was pulled backwards over the log by the neck tethers, and his wrists secured high above his head in the same way as his ankles. I was mystified why he wasn’t fighting back, though. It looked like Romeo had the muscle power to yank all of the guards off their feet, whenever he wanted to. ***  
(***I was guessing at the time, but now I know that for a fact.)

With Romeo immobilized, suitably spread-eagled in back-breaking posture over the log, they finished off with the ensnaring of his nuts, provoking his penis into that show of defiance. It was a textbook operation, and I had to give them kudos for a job well done. The soldiers had to make sure their work pleased the jarl too, of course. They knew only too well what sort of guy he was.

 

The more closely I observed the guards lashing Romeo down, the more I saw... _something_. Something... _special_. A meekness, a gentleness, a sadness, even a longing, perhaps. He was not resisting them. In fact, he gave them no trouble _at all_. I was quite sure he could have hospitalized some of them, if he had used that brute strength to try to fight for his freedom. But he passively _allowed_ them to do their duty without any objection, in spite of what that meant for himself.

I would not have been so compliant, were I in his situation. I would have been mounting a most violent protest to escape the horrendous consequences. Either he was extremely dumb, or.... no.... there was far too much intelligence in his eyes for that.

He was _choosing_ to be submissive, _permitting_ the guards to do their job well, rather than mete out some broken bones while mounting a half-decent bid for freedom.

There was more, _much_ more, to this “repulsive monster” than what first meets the terrified eyes. The intrigue piqued my curiosity. I had all morning to work out what this guy was all about. And I totally failed.

 

I hovered around the square all morning, surveiling the townsfolk, and the other hold residents that came to witness the show. I was not impressed with how they treated him. No, that is another generous understatement. I was _appalled_ by how they treated him.

Romeo was totally helpless. Defenseless against anything the townsfolk subjected him to. He could not have been more humiliated or ashamed, than to be displayed so indecently, for “public inspection of the goods on offer”. The entire hold got the intended good ogling all right. Most stared far longer than was appropriate at that massive phallic missile, resisting being shoved on by the curious queue waiting impatiently for their own unobscured view. Many went back for a second scrutinizing, and even a third or fourth, because they simply didn’t believe what they saw the first time.

People were encouraged to get up close and personal. Some having a feel, some having a play, some having a poke, some pinching, some squeezing, some teasing, some ridiculing, some sneering insults, some even taking a punch. And some scared witless and soiling themselves if they accidentally happened to look into his eyes. But mostly all attention was riveted on the meat and two veg that could feed a small town for a week. Romeo absorbed all of their abuse in sorrowful silence, mostly staring sadly into the sky, with an occasional tear seeping from an eye.

Late morning, I quietly joined the queue, and had a careful inspection to confirm my own suspicions. The details of the milking machine were still unknown to me then, of course, but I had no doubt that Romeo was anything but a dry well. There were a few drops of precum showing, even now, as the morning’s abuse excited him against his wishes. I could not imagine him to be the impotent producer that had got him into this predicament in the first place. I was convinced the wrong tool was being blamed.

I also seriously doubted, seeing the sheer size of his now painfully swollen balls, that he had been squandering all of his precious seed in an unauthorized relationship with another man. The restrained, controlled slave life in the milking factory simply did not give him the time nor opportunity for that. Not without consent from the guards, at least. I concluded the relationship had all been made up to hide the dismal failure of the jarl’s machinery.

 

There was no doubt that Romeo would be a dominating, fearsome sight if you ever met him on equal terms. Bound over the log like he was, however, he was totally harmless. He could not defend himself against a feather, and I was extremely angry to see so many people taking advantage of his vulnerability, tormenting and torturing him without sympathy.

But the strange day merited strange allowances, and the extenuating circumstances led me to do something very strange indeed. I decided to give them all the benefit of the doubt, justifying their actions as protecting their own futures by doing what the jarl wanted them to. Romeo was already a certain sacrifice, so where was the harm in abusing this worthless piece of Orc meat if it meant they could improve their standing in the jarl’s good books by doing so?

I had never been that lenient towards such abominable behavior ever before. And don’t ever expect me to be so again. The morning of strange day was absolutely a one-off, never-to-be-repeated exoneration.

 

I bided my time, and let everyone do whatever they wished without further judgement. It would not help anyone if I intervened before the right moment. I concentrated on the Orc, who was earning my serious respect for soaking up all of this contemptible cruelty without complaint or retaliation.

I could not have been that tolerant, were I in his bindings. And then I realized, Romeo had been proving his superior nobility all morning. Just by doing _nothing_ , he was _better_ than me, turning the other cheek as the whole world spat their vitriolic hatred at him.

I was already fairly sure I would intervene, long before I saw Romeo paraded into the square that morning. Now it was an absolute certainty, but increasingly difficult to wait. And if I was struggling to endure the torment, I could not imagine how unbearable it must have been for Romeo. That morning seemed like it would never end, as time all but stood still for both of us. Everyone else, of course, merely _hoped_ the morning would never end, as time _flew_ by for them, and noon stopped their fun all too soon.

Romeo took it all in honorable silence. He did not retaliate. He retreated inwards, guiding his thoughts to those few moments in his life when he had been happy. Now and then he tugged against his bindings, testing them in the hope that they might have miraculously loosened, and sometimes allowing a little whimper to slip out when he found nothing had changed.

Every time he tried to confront the future, a tear escaped when he realized he could not.****  
(****This works both ways. While intended to mean that a tear escaped when he realized he could not escape, it also works that a tear escaped when he realized he could not confront his future. Which is perhaps a more powerful, if unplanned and unexpected, meaning.)

 

Romeo had not even looked at me when I passed him by. He did not even notice that one spectator had spared him any maltreatment. He was completely unaware that he had the slightest hope of salvation. He had been enslaved a few months before Helgen had been devastated, and did not even know there was a remote outside chance for a dragon attack to rescue him. He stared into the sky all the same, resigned to his fate, hoping against hope that his fervent prayers would inspire the Divines to help him. Somehow...

As a relative newcomer to the town, I did not really want to rock the boat and make waves so early in this dangerous place. I might have reasonable political clout in the other holds, but here I was still very weak and unknown. It is easier to drive lasting change as a gradual rising of an unstoppable tide, than in the disruptive carnage of a flash flood. But there was no time for my influence to improve, or the tide to rise. Romeo needed the flood.

This strange day had forced my hand. It was now obvious that this entire hold needed redemption far more than the others, and that _had_ to start today, with Romeo. He did not have the luxury of waiting for a more convenient moment. My sense of injustice had been sharply pricked. I was not about to let this man be neutered without a fight. He would be a eunuch before evening, unless I did something about it. _Right here. Right now._

Once again, Romeo was oblivious to the scheming plans of others who would change his destiny for him. The press gang had destroyed his dreams and fucked his future. I hoped to restore them. Somehow...

Winning the auction was only going to be the first battle, though. And a relatively easy one at that. It had been a very challenging morning. And yet, it was no challenge at all, compared with what was about to happen. Especially for Romeo. Even I had no idea just how insurmountable his ultimate challenge would be.


	6. Going..... going...... GONE.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The jarl arrives to preside over the auction. The dragonborn sweats almost as much as Romeo.

### 6\. Going..... going...... GONE.

At noon, the jarl arrived with ceremonial pomp and splendid grandeur, lapping up the adulation of his obediently adoring crowd. Not that they had any choice. His goon squad discretely encouraged anyone seen to be cheering less than enthusiastically to be a little more ardently appreciative. His procession ended at the elevated throne temporarily positioned for him to officiate. He sat down to preside, and the crowd moved back behind a rope barricade, so all could see the hapless Orc still sweating in acute distress, spread-eagled in the centre of the square.

The auction began immediately. No speeches. No tirades or rants. No stereotypical long-winded revelation of the devious plan of the evil mastermind. Not one word about the crimes committed by the odious Orc being sterilised here today. Not even a sales pitch about the succulent delicacy being offered. He also avoided any reference that the goods might be tainted, or “queer”, in any way.

He simply said, “What am I bid for this luvverly bunch of coconuts? Ah-ha. Ha. Ha.” Oh, I see, that was meant to be a joke. The crowd forced out some awkward laughter. But the mood was already deadly serious.

A few of the local nasty families made their bids. They were well known for their vicious brutality and depraved tastes, and most were expected to make a banquet dinner of the sweetmeats if they won. There was certainly a lot more on offer than anyone had anticipated.

The eggs were so extra-large, in fact, that instead of most men feeling totally inadequate in their presence, there was a strange fascination that the impossible size of Romeo’s private parts simply could not be real, and it was all an elaborate hoax. The nervous laughter accompanying each bid was that bit more hysterical as a result.

 

I tried not to look too enthusiastic with my bids, but always raised the ante well before the hammer was to fall. Many times those considering another bid paused the proceedings, as they gave Romeo another painfully intimate appraisal, relishing every opportunity to give the goods a gratuitous groping.

Romeo flinched with pain as nails dug in for the squeezing and pinching, but he did not reward the salivating predators with any exclamation. ‘ _Good for you. That’s the spirit. Be brave. Hang in there. This will end, I promise._ ’ Of course, he did not hear my telepathy, and had still not even looked at me. He was mostly staring at the sky, still pleading desperately with the Gods to help him. But even as they continued to forsake him, he was not even close to cursing them.

 

My main competitor was the one noble house I had not done any favours for. The other houses dropped out early, perhaps because they were not as wealthy as they pretended. Or perhaps, in payback for the favours I had done them, and hoping for an invite to the exotic feast they presumed I would host. Hoping to have their sweetmeats and eat them, without having to pay for them, in other words.

It got expensive. Very expensive. _Astronomically_ expensive. If Skyrim had telephones, it would have been telephone number _plus area code_ expensive. The gasps grew louder as the price inched ever higher. I tried to keep cool, and exude every bit of confidence that I could muster, that my eventual win was assured. But bidding at an auction was not a skill that my dragonborn experience had developed, and I was sweating uncomfortably. But sweating nowhere near as uncomfortably as the poor Orc splayed out over the log, forced to listen to every agonizing new bid for his bits.

 

Fortunately my good deeds around all of Skyrim had rewarded me well, and I could comfortably afford the final eye-watering asking price, even as it more than halved my net worth. It was possible to buy a major estate, if not an entire village, for that much. Whispers were going around the crowd that a man’s _life_ could be bought for _half_ of what I was paying.

But this was about principle, and there was simply no way that I could let Romeo meet the demise that the jarl had planned for him. He had already suffered more than enough. It cost what it cost. Talos had let me acquire that wealth for a reason. Why not this one?

 

The hammer fell at last, and the first little victory was mine. I strode confidently up to the jarl’s throne, and deposited the bags of gold at his feet with a loud jangle. His beady eyes lit up with glee at the windfall, and I could see the gears already grinding through how he could turn this new enterprise into a regular fund-raiser. All together now: The jarl was just that sort of greedy guy.

I was now the proud new owner of Romeo’s testicles. That was something I had never, ever expected to be on my shopping list. _Ever._ I breathed a sigh of relief that the qualifying bout had been won. Oh yeah, we have not even reached round one of the main fight, yet.

Various pretentious sycophants slithered over to breathe their congratulations. I felt queasy, both angry and disgusted with their sucking up as they tried to ingratiate themselves into my good books. They were all making sure I knew their names for any banquet invitations I might be sending out. This time I _did_ make notes, but not for the reasons they hoped. This was for my long game. My generous absolution of the morning was long forgotten already. These swine were booking their places on my heavy millstone, that I could drown them all in the rising tide I had planned. Because, _I_ am _that_ sort of guy.


	7. First impression epic fail....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dragonborn greets Romeo. But the handshake completely blows it.

### 7\. First impression epic fail....

The really impossible challenge was next. How to keep those nuts attached to the body that they presently adorned, without totally insulting the jarl and all of the other powerful noble houses. It could easily be me strung over the same log tomorrow if I played this wrong.

I was handed the ceremonial knife. A pretty, but rather crude implement, clearly intended for blunt hacking and sawing, not slicing. It was meant to cause Romeo as much prolonged grief and agony with the mutilation as possible. Everybody is by now absolutely clear what sort of guy the jarl was, right?

It was not enough that Romeo should lose his manhood. He had to be reminded every minute of every day, by leaving the nastiest, ugliest, most painful scars possible. It brought home to me just how much fine detail this jarl put into making life unpleasant for everyone else. My blood boiled. I considered plunging the knife into the jarl right there and then instead. I had to restrain myself every bit as much as the fettered Romeo now bricking himself before me.

The time had finally come, and Romeo was close to losing it completely. His self-control of the morning was vanishing fast. His fear showed visibly now, and I thought how ironic it was that _he_ should be so scared of a stranger for once. He was squirming quite vigorously, involuntarily trying to get away from his inescapable doom. His wrists and ankles and red balls had been rubbed raw, but they were causing him insignificant pain compared to the imminent agony he was expecting.

 

I had a plan, but it was risky. Romeo had no idea who I was, and had no reason to trust what I was about to do. From his point of view, I was the evil bastard who had just paid an absolute fortune to chop off his nuts. I could not expect any co-operation, but fortunately he was so heavily restrained he could do nothing to fight me. His resistance was futile.

Knife in one hand, I knelt down between his trembling, wide spread legs. The bindings held fast as he vainly tried to bring his knees together to deny me access. A frantic whining told me the anticipation was killing him. A hush fell as the crowd waited expectantly for his blood and screams that would accompany my first cut.

I grasped his cock with my free hand. He recoiled violently against my dreaded touch, and nearly ripped his nuts off instantaneously against the leather strips. The flash of searing pain stopped him in the nick of time. Alarmed, I started trying to explain my intentions.

But it was already too late. Moments later, he creamed himself, shooting his load all over his stomach and chest.

The bondage, the ball stretching, the morning’s abuse, and the manhandling of the sadistic bidders, had all brought him much closer to the edge than I had realized. His own involuntary ball yank at my first handshake had finished him off.

The crowd creamed themselves too, collapsing in mirth at the sight of this fearsome Orc messing himself instantly and uncontrollably at my merest touch.

Even the jarl chuckled with mild amusement at my bonus humiliation of the beast.

 

There is nothing like premature ejaculation to make someone feel two inches tall. And I had just made Romeo do that in front of the entire hold.

Our eyes met for the very first time.

His questioning rage burned through his tears, blazing hotter than the hottest dragon’s breath. _“Why?”_ I could hear those furious eyes demanding. _“Was it not enough that I had bought the right to do whatever I wished with his crown jewels? Did I really have to embarrass him beyond all possible limits of mortification with that one-second hand-job as well?”_

Oops. Epic fail.

I felt sick, withering under his incinerating glare and snarling teeth. How could I ever convince him that what had just happened, was a severe setback to my actual plan to keep him attached to his treasured possessions? I was already well out of my depth on this strange day, and now events were rapidly spiraling out of my tenuous control.

 

Plan A had failed almost before it had even begun. I had barely touched him, and he had ejaculated before I had a vessel ready to catch it in. But the quantity of cum splashed over his body was perhaps not as much as might be expected. Perhaps he had some more to give. I hoped so, anyway. He hadn’t liked plan A, so he was absolutely going to hate plan B. But it was all I could think of on the spur of the moment.

I walked around and knelt by his side. Still feeling very rattled by the devastatingly dirty looks he was giving me, I struggled to find any assertiveness for my surprisingly weak voice. “You’re going to have to do that again,” I squeaked.

He was quite still for a moment, his eyes widening in disbelieving horror, before he shook his head slowly in refusal at the concept. He wriggled and writhed as if he could somehow get away from me, increasing into a frantic thrashing against his bindings as he snarled and growled and blubbered and shed more tears as the message hit fully home.

His awkward fangs and emotional upset made it difficult for me to understand him. I wasn’t sure if he was asking me to rather kill him, or if he was threatening to kill me, but he was clearly indicating a preference for _someone’s_ death over the idea of a second coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quote: "His resistance was futile."
> 
> I like Sci-Fi. Star Trek TNG is an old, fond favorite.   
> To show the sort of daft, punny humor I felt when writing this, an early draft contained the following version of that line:  
> "We are the DragonBorg. Resistance is futile." 
> 
> Can't quite believe no-one's spotted that potential..... (note added 4 weeks after publication of this chapter)  
> Oh, and please don't ask my why I piss myself laughing at "DragonBorg" - completely befuddling genres and puns and whatever else that could be described as.   
> I took it out, to keep this reasonably Skyrim-centric, and because it didn't really fit with the scene (or the Dragonborn character). But I have a feeling that "I'll be back" someday, in another story, somewhere.  
> You might spot other instances of these sort of signature references that have... survived the edit.   
> I consider them Easter Eggs, for entertainment value, totally inappropriate amidst this dramatic tale.


	8. Once more unto the breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's try that again.... But Plan B does not impress the jarl at all.

### 8\. Once more unto the breach

I quickly explained what I hoped we could achieve, as I kept massaging his cock. He closed his eyes, still shaking his head in impossible denial, grimacing when it became clear that I was absolutely going to make him do it. At least, it seemed like he grimaced more than his usual expression suggested. No wonder - this was no easy task I was asking of him, and he still had deep misgivings about my intentions.

But how could I take no for an answer? I would have had to geld him then and there, otherwise. I was quite happy to risk adding the further indignity of erectile dysfunction, to his newly earned unwanted title of Tamriel’s most premature ejaculator. He was powerless to resist, no matter what forebodings he had about what was to come. I was not particularly proud of the grueling ordeal I was putting him through, but sometimes you have to do the perverted things for a greater good. Plan B swung, or rather stroked, into action.

I asked for a cup, and began to seriously titillate him. He had not lost the erection for a moment since the first release, but his initial jerk had tightened the snares around his nuts, and the blinding pain of the leather strips strangling his now-blue balls made it difficult for him to react with any enthusiasm. And that’s assuming my words of encouragement were falling on amenable ears. But I wanted to believe he was trying to help, and play his co-operative part.

 

I have plenty of experience of handling great swords. But never one like this before. I can honestly say that wrestling Romeo’s colossal cock gave me unexpectedly great difficulty. Many awkward minutes of clumsy fumbles, tugs and teases followed, with the crowd beginning to heckle and boo at the labored, boring display. Once or twice I sensed Romeo twitch with pleasure, but mostly it was a difficult grind for both of us. The jarl was rapidly losing patience.

“Get on with it!” he yelled angrily. And another little coincidence slotted into place, as the sound of the hated voice sent Romeo’s blood pressure spiraling, stiffening his cock a little more, and arousing him far enough to trigger the second coming. Defiance can prove to be a surprising source of sexual motivation.

 

The orgasm was not as forceful as the first. The semen barely launched from his opening as it dribbled lazily out of his cock. But he was definitely trying now, concentrating on rhythmically clenching his tender nuts as hard as he dared to keep them pumping. He managed to sustain that insipid flow for much longer this time. But every squeeze tightened those leather nooses a little bit more, until they strangled him so tightly he could get nothing more out.

I caught every drop. He had managed to coax out enough jizz to half fill the cup. That was very much an acceptable average production by any standard, and I hoped it would be enough to convince the jarl. After all, had I managed to catch the first load too, Romeo would possibly have filled it to the brim. There was a very strong case for _“Impressive.”_

 

I stood up to play my gambit. I cleared my throat, took a deep breath, and raising the cup towards the jarl, I declared “I think this man is more capable than your milking machine seems to suggest, my jarl. Perhaps we should reconsider the future use of his testicles?”

You could have heard a pin drop. No-one had seen _that_ coming. Except perhaps for Romeo. And even he almost certainly hadn’t believed me when I had explained my plan to him. I was sure he just despised me all the more, for putting him through this extended torture.

But the jarl seemed unimpressed. He was not even teetering on the brink of changing his mind.

 

I tried again: “He has clearly demonstrated he can deliver more than most men, and I doubt that he had nothing more to give your machine at any time over the past year. Even on day 1, long before his alleged homosexual relationship could have begun, he was already the worst contributor in the milking factory.”  
_Damn. That hadn’t come out right. That sounded a little too close to insulting the jarl’s machine. Shut up, already._

I wish I had known then that Romeo had just dispensed more cum in those few minutes, than in an _entire year_ at the jarl’s milking machine. It would have been a more persuasive argument. But I missed it.

The outcome hung precariously in the balance, but our chances were slipping further away with every awkward moment of prolonged silence that passed. The jarl just stared back at me coldly, giving no signal he was making any decisions about anything. I could see he was trying to work out if I had just insulted him in front of his entire hold. There was no sign he was considering Romeo’s worthiness for reprieve.

I was lost. I had no idea what to do next. This wasn’t in the script. The jarl was supposed to be so impressed with Romeo’s stud farm credentials, that he’d agree to let the stallion stay whole.

I looked at Romeo, but he didn’t want to know me. He was staring into the sky again. And then he expressed his loathing by looking even further away from me. I had failed him, and he was letting me know just how disgusted he was with me. Because we both knew that my next act had to be to cut his balls off.

I turned back to the jarl, hoping for some sign that he would relent. But I saw only the cold look of a man who perceived the regal perfection of his machine had been disputed, and was considering what to do about that.

Plan B ended here. Romeo had already surpassed all expectation, but it was not enough. Not even close to enough.

I was panicking more than a little, dreading that I would have to perform the awful deed that I had always believed would be avoided, when the pregnant silence was broken in the most unexpected way. No, it was not a dragon. _Sigh._ This was _not_ Helgen.


	9. The birth of a legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.  
> This is where it gets brutal. And graphic. And bloody.

### 9\. The birth of a legend

I did not know it then, but my appeal to the jarl had made a whole new impression on Romeo. My clumsy yet passionate plea had moved him quite deeply. He reluctantly accepted that this was indeed an intervention on his behalf, as my words sparked the first faint glimmer of hope in him all day. Even as my own hope was being snuffed out by the contemptuous looks from the jarl, his was flaring into life.

As that awkward silence dragged on, he had fervently prayed once more for the Gods to help us. He believes his heartfelt appeal touched the Divines. That he even heard Mara pleading urgently with Talos, who ultimately relented, and together they answered Romeo. Whatever the cause, he insists that it was those two Divines that drove him onwards, inspiring him to take an amazingly brave decision.

 

 _“ **AGAIN!** ”_, roared Romeo in the deepest, angriest growl I have ever heard.

I nearly dropped the cup with fright, and I swear my trousers were _already_ damp. Incredulously I searched his fraught, haunted, pitiful face.

“ **MORE!** ” he snarled.

“DO IT!” he demanded.

“Come _ON!_ ” he pleaded, thrashing his arms and legs to encourage some action from me.

“Please?” he whimpered, sobbing great floods of tears as I just stood there like a statue, not believing what my ears were hearing.

He thrashed violently against the restraints in frustration at my hesitation, and might even have been close to breaking free, such was his frenzied determination for action.

Was this man really asking me to take him to a third coming? Yes, indeed he was! Holy ****, what was he _thinking?_ What was he _made of?_ Was this even _possible_ , or just the last desperate act of a desperate Orc?

And then I saw that his mighty member was _still_ erect. But the leather strips were choking his now-dark-blue balls so tightly, that it looked impossible to coax anything more out of them. Did he really have the willpower, the endurance, and the stamina to do this? Under _these_ circumstances? I had been pleasantly surprised and greatly relieved that he had managed the second coming, but this was beyond all precedent. Wow. Such _courage_. Such... _optimism?_ Such.... _fantastical delusion_ , perhaps?

But Romeo insisted _again_ , vocally expressing his exasperation as he thrashed even more vigorously against his bonds, with ever more tears filling his incensed eyes as I procrastinated further.

Heck, if he really wanted to try, who was I to deny him? What did he have to lose? His nuts were already a write-off...

So I knelt down again, and reached out once more for that phenomenal phallus.

 

I put down the cup, so I could use both hands to manipulate him. This was not going to be enjoyable fun. It was going to be a brutal, heartless, coldblooded massacre. Romeo had volunteered to be the collateral damage under my merciless command. I have seen many gory and gruesome sights during my time. But this was going to be one of the worst battle carnage scenes ever. It didn’t matter that no guts were going to be spilled. Because plenty were _already_ on show.

He was totally committed now. He was going to prove his worth to the jarl if it killed him. And that was not nearly as overly dramatic a notion as it might sound.

We had finally become a team, working together towards a single goal: A third coming. _At any price._

He started telling me the best ways to excite him further. His huge cock responded enthusiastically to my touch, and he threw all caution and personal pride to the wind as he revealed his most sensitive secret G-spots, and the best ways I should exploit them without mercy.

His enormous appendage appreciated the attention by growing another inch. Maybe Romeo had a kinky side, too, and the masochism was actually helping him to perform. There seemed to be no other explanation for what he was attempting.

 

Nothing was sacred. One by one, he revealed all of his greatest weaknesses and vulnerabilities. It was like your favorite pet, telling you the best way to sacrifice them, asking you to cut bits off, to stab deeper, and not to stop until it was thoroughly dismembered and properly dead. And you knew you _had_ to do it. That’s how bad I was feeling about what Romeo was asking me to do to him. But sometimes you have to sacrifice the innocent beloved for the greater good.

Each new erotic site he revealed, shocked me for a moment. I struggled to accept Romeo giving himself to me so trustingly, sharing his most intimate secrets so freely. And then I violated his body anew, defiling those sensual pleasure zones with excessive force. There were a few spots on his cock. His taint. In his groin. Each one drove him wild with frustration, inducing reflex reactions intended to throw me off. He could not escape my touch, but merely tested the bindings as his muscles failed to generate the desired relief.

His nipples proved to be his greatest vulnerability, provoking intense spasms and twitches like no other, almost like they were a remote control for his cock.

There was even a spot behind his right ear, that if I tickled in just the right wa..AAArgh..

I knew I was doing it right, when his urgent words were interrupted by involuntary gasps and groans and moans of extreme pleasure. But he wasn’t enjoying it one little bit either. Everything I touched tried to pull away, in automatic self preservation from the unbearable thrills revving his sexual engine well past the redline. His body was yelling at me to stop, because it clearly could not take such incessant stimulation.

His weeping eyes looked at me with mixed emotions. He was clearly afraid, terrified by the overpowering erotic excitement I was unleashing on his body. But he was also grateful that I was delivering this torturous titillation. I saw that creepy strange look of someone who both feared and loved their tormentor.

And yet, every time I sensed an overwhelmed Romeo was about to beg for clemency, he gritted his teeth and demanded more. ‘Keep going. Keep driving. Pursue those cowardly retreating erogenous zones. Don’t let them escape my touch, but chase after them. Hammer them. Take no prisoners. No moderation, no leniency, no mercy. Just more. Drive harder, faster. _More._ ’

 

The crowd gawked in astonishment, quietly commenting to each other about how this was not humanly possible, and nervously laughing at the foolish aspirations of the condemned eunuch-to-be. Well, yeah, obviously not humanly possible, since he was, in fact, an Orc.

There was also a growing respect that he would even attempt a third climax after his morning of torment, and ongoing extreme discomfort. Tied down like he was, he could barely move, his balls so painfully constricted they were almost beyond feeling. And yet, he had been able to ejaculate twice already...

Maybe, just _maybe_ , this young virile Orc had more spunk in him than anyone gave him credit for.

Even the jarl postponed his imminent reprimand for my insolence, out of mild inquisitiveness to see what this satyric Orc could do. Or more likely not! Romeo was _surely_ going to fail to get the job done this time. Meanwhile, the torture I was inflicting provided a highly enjoyable and satisfying extra dose of embarrassing humiliation for the vile creature. From the pleasure on his face, I had no doubt that the jarl was getting off thinking about Romeo's defeated misery, when those balls failed to deliver one last orgasm. Romeo was not just going to be castrated, but castrated while in extreme sexual frustration. The perverted jarl was just that kind of kinky sadist.

The gambling sharks began taking bets on the outcome. Murmured opinions escalated into excited debate. The hubbub grew, and gradually the shouts of encouragement from those backing a hoped-for winner _seemed_ louder than those heckling for derogatory failure. This was a cockfight like they had never seen before. I was determined to skew the odds in our favor, but it was both in my hands, and out of my hands, if you know what I mean.

 

Romeo had committed his entire being to the plan of proving his worth to the jarl. He had nothing to lose, of course. Well, nothing _more_ to lose, since he had already officially lost ownership of his testicles. He was somehow conquering the awful sensations in his body, ignoring the searing pains and sexual torture, oblivious to everything except what was needed to cum once more. He never ceased giving me ever more meticulous instructions as to how to stimulate him ever more intensely. Even though the extreme erotic excitation was making it hard for him to breathe, never mind speak.

Driving him relentlessly, ruthlessly, his throbbing dick stretched another half inch, the veins standing out rock hard against the equally rock hard shaft. That was the object in my hands, of course. But his balls were now a nasty shade of purple within the malevolent grip of the leather as he clenched his buttocks and weakly tried to thrust his hips forward away from the log. He told me to forget tickling his nuts, because he couldn’t feel them anymore. I hoped they had not already given up the fight and detached themselves internally.

He struggled and wrestled with his bindings, whipping about wildly as he propelled himself to another level of orgasmic state. And he was not just already there, but incredibly, he was _far beyond_ where he would have fired under normal circumstances. He was in completely unfamiliar, virgin territory of sexual excitement.

It was now obvious that those leather strips strangling his balls were holding him back. Damn, those guards had done a good job. Not only were the bindings showing no sign of loosening under Romeo’s demented assault, but the snares trapping his nuts just got ever tighter and tighter.

I dared not cut the leather without the jarl’s say-so. I was still under obligation to hack off those pendulous rocks, and releasing Romeo prematurely would be obvious insubordination. It was not worth the risk of an outraged jarl intervening and stopping proceedings before we had proven the point. I was already on thin ice for my earlier disrespect.

Romeo was quivering and bursting with everything ready to blow. But, the leather still throttled his balls so tightly there was simply no way for anything to get past. I tried squeezing his nuts hard, hoping to sneak something past the obstruction, but while the sadistic torture raised Romeo to yet another new level of excitement, there was no reaction when he arrived there. And that was the ultimately definitive part that was out of my hands. Dismayed, I realized it was all down to Romeo to find a way to finish it.

 

But it was just not happening. It was taking too long. My two hands were not enough. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Strange day had already been so strange, what use was there in keeping any of my own pride or dignity? This was total war now, with no limits of decorum.

The crowd roared as I bent over to tickle a nipple with my tongue, biting and sucking as Romeo writhed in ecstasy. My mouth increased the erotic intensity I could induce into him, and he found himself lifting higher again, as his cock extended yet another impossible half inch. I could feel it pulsing with anticipation, ready to blow as soon as it got the right signal.

But that signal remained stalled. Romeo was far, far away, well beyond the point of orgasm, drifting away in an erotic pleasure so intense, that he no longer felt anything other than the overpowering desire in his loins to shoot forth. If only those leather strips would permit it.

I tried different combinations, different patterns, and discovered the best sequence to maximize his stimulation. I varied the cadence to cycle him higher and lower and higher again, in such a way that the upper limit could increase a little bit each time, instead of getting stuck on the plateau of a constant excitation. Romeo floated ever higher, but the leather still kept him tethered out of reach of the finish.

The dribbles of precum that his overly-excited prostate kept drooling in anticipation were making my fingers slip. I used it as a lubricant to massage his glans, and his helmet swelled another quarter of an inch in appreciation. It seems Romeo didn’t know all of his own secrets after all. And yet he still stood at the very edge of disaster, as those leather strips obstinately refused him permission to cum.

His frenzied thrashing eventually harmonized with my fingers in a serendipitous way, elevating him higher still, and sending his cock another half inch towards the Gods. We both sensed the end was tantalizingly close to our combined grasps. Panting and gasping for air from his effort, his imploring eyes widened as he locked them with mine, as if I had the final say on the matter. He saw my apology, and looked away in hopeless despair once more. The choking leather still denied him the win.

Romeo shook his head with intolerable frustration and begged the sky with his weeping eyes one last time to release him from the unbearable torment. It was difficult to imagine how any God could fail to notice this gigantic monument reaching ever higher towards them. But it had not been erected for their honor, and they seemed to ignore him once more. Like the jarl, they could not condescend to grant the wishes of a mere mortal. They had given him a chance, inspiring the idea, but it was all down to Romeo now, no matter how deeply they were moved by his supreme heroics.

He was barely able to breathe with anticipation as I relentlessly drove him onwards and upwards. My arms were really aching now, and I could not go on much longer myself. But I did not let up, inspired by the steely grit of the exhausted Orc who was quite clearly determined to succeed, or rupture himself horribly while trying. All he had was me, and my fingers and tongue still playing their erotic tune as they danced around his erogenous zones. And time was now running out fast.

Romeo looked around one last time. He dug deep to summon every last drop of willpower he had left. With one deep breath, he found the will for one last heave, and put every fiber of his straining body behind it. I gave him everything I had left in one final make or break crescendo. This was going to be the climax, whether it was Romeo’s climax or not.

 

Every muscle in his body rippled as he strained to send that sperm on its way. The intense pressurization sent his cock climbing even higher into the sky, desperately appealing to the Gods one last time. I saw his balls visibly contract and squeeze hard, fighting the leather strips even as their tourniquets tightened all the more, still refusing to yield their vice-like grip.

Sweat poured from his body as he flexed ever harder, as if trying to force something out by brute strength alone. The veins stood out everywhere, threatening to burst under the pressure.

And still Romeo kept squeezing. His balls clenched ever tighter. The irresistible pressure in his nuts kept building ever higher against the unmovable leather.

 _Something_ had to give.

This was going to end badly at any moment. Heart failure, most probably. Romeo was starting to turn a similar shade of purple to his nuts. I was about to abort the mission, fearing for his life. But I waited too long.

With an almighty pelvic thrust, Romeo blocked out the pain as he arched as high as he could, trying to break the leather prison caging him in.

Something did indeed give. But it was _not_ the leather.

 

The leather turned crimson, as the skin finally split underneath its sharp edge. It was touch and go whether it would slice all the way through, such that Romeo would disfigure himself completely just as the jarl had decreed. Maybe the Gods stepped in to protect him, maybe not, but there at the precipice of catastrophe, he found the tiniest sliver of a bridge to success.

Romeo howled, his eyes opening wide as the extreme pain registered. But then he felt something else. The yielding skin had loosened the ligatures just enough for a trickle to get past the blockage. He did not need a second invitation. The intense pressure in his balls sent his sperm surging through the gap, opening the floodgates, and starting the journey that could have only one ending. The tidal wave grew, as his balls squeezed everything they had as urgently as possible through that tiny window of opportunity. Finally past those gates of hell, Romeo opened his mouth wide in pure ecstasy as the release came at last.

I could sense what he felt. Time slowed as we entered “the zone” together. The next few moments seemed to take hours.

Romeo was so far beyond the threshold, that the flash flood now bearing down at high speed on his prostate was about to be amplified beyond all system capacity. Every muscle fiber, every _single part_ of his body, was already in serious overload. His genitals went critical in their hyper excitement, having been anticipating this moment for far too long already. The cascade was instantly and completely out of control, so far over 9000 the meter didn’t just break, it shattered into over 9000 pieces. Structural failure was imminent.

Romeo had been powerless to control anything happening to himself, all morning. And now he was equally powerless to stop what was happening to him on the inside. As the runaway train hurtled onwards, the end result was now going to be even worse than the jarl’s sentence. His body was yelling at him that it was probably going to blow itself apart moments later, when the first pulse of orgasm detonated a destructive explosive misfire, instead of activating the railgun.

There was a new terror in his bulging eyes in that brief moment before all hell broke loose. Romeo tensed every pumped muscle even more as he braced for the brutal onslaught. His cock prepared for the ferocious assault by inflating a final half inch, as my fingers still played their erotic tune, giving him no respite from the approaching apocalypse.

The noisy, chanting, baying crowd had become near deafening. But they were all drowned out and silenced by an almighty thu’um of a bellowing shout from the Orc. He was screaming his fear, already feeling the trauma of his body tearing itself apart in an internal cataclysm. But to everyone else, it was the triumphant heralding of the birth of a legend, to all of Skyrim.

I was merely a passenger along for the wild ride, facilitating the sensual stimulation of his erogenous zones, while he fought through the pain and exhaustion and insurmountable obstacles. Somehow, somewhere, we had driven his genitals so far above and beyond the call of duty, a new legend was indeed born that day.

But, this was not just a legend of “a” third coming. Others have no doubt achieved similar feats. No, this was the legend of _**THE**_ third coming.


	10. The Legend of the Third Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> O.M.G. The best show in Skyrim. 
> 
> The only immersion-breaking way to describe this is, is to think Mentos in a soda bottle.....  
> You might as well look now, because this is the "all hell breaking loose".  
> www.youtube.com/watch?v=hKoB0MHVBvM  
> Pay particular attention to the staccato fire about 70 seconds in.  
> Now imagine that's Romeo's cock, and not a soda bottle... It's about the right size, too! lol.

### 10\. The Legend of the Third Coming.

No-one, especially me, was the slightest bit prepared for the volcanic fountain that rocketed into the sky.

The recoil almost knocked me off balance. I was so surprised, I completely forgot to grab the cup to catch anything until the third volley had been launched.

Romeo was erupting from inside, blasting torrents of cum high into the air, again and again. And again and again. It was squirting so high, and spraying so wide, that I was barely catching any of the warm rain showering down on us.

Nevertheless, the cup was overflowing long before he was even half finished this time. No one noticed, because they could not pry their eyes away from this newly discovered Orc version of Old Faithful. Just as powerful. Just as regular. But far more frequent. I put the cup down, and kept stimulating him relentlessly, determined to milk the painful price of this performance for everything it was worth.

Jaws hit floors as he spurted so many times everyone lost count. They seemed to keep on coming forever, and mesmerized everyone with their hypnotic rhythm.

Each successive pulse merely _increased_ the intensity of the one to follow. It was as if the flood was still building internally, rather than exhausting itself in the copious cum he spewed into orbit. His genitals seemed unable to release enough cum to dispel the ever spiraling desire to fire another round. The harder he blew, the more he had to blow the next salvo.

His cannon kept on reloading with ever more gunpowder behind each shot. Every time it did not self-destruct, it reloaded again to have another go at the involuntary self-harm. And every time, it simply propelled the next charge to ever greater speed and height. It was a self-perpetuating chain reaction of resonant self-excitation.

 

Only Mara knows how an Orc’s physiology can generate such an ocean of cum. Or maybe, it’s unique to Romeo. Either way, he could not stop until it was all vented. He had no choice. Now that they had been let off the leather leashes, his balls were dominating both of us, even as I continued encouraging them to show us everything they had, and _more_.

The poor man was drowning under the deluge. Not just by the bodily fluids he was drenching himself in, but by the fear, too, as his mind and body struggled to cope with the orgasmic energy being discharged through his rod.

He got no relief from me, either. I was timing my merciless stimulation to make it even worse for him, satisfying a twisted fascination to see his previous altitude record smashed with each successive ejection. No, I _don’t_ have any shame about that. In hindsight, it was perhaps a little heartless of me to take such ruthlessly abusive advantage of his helpless predicament. But this was every bit the spectacle needed to win his reprieve, and I made sure it was the best show in Skyrim.

And still Romeo delivered the incredible bombardment on and on, my remorseless fingers coupling with his total compliance to deliver quite the most devastating display of male orgasm Skyrim has even seen.

 

Eventually, of course, he did manage to drain the reservoir. The altitude record peaked, but I kept driving him all the more as the height and volume of each spurt gradually declined. I pleasured him to the very end and beyond, teasing every last drop from his tortured tackle.

By the time he was depleted, I am quite sure I could have easily filled a second cup, most likely a third, and probably a fourth, with the prolific quantities of seminal fluid that had been liberally splashed all over Romeo’s body, me, the log, and the saturated ground all around us.

The tears filling Romeo’s eyes streamed like little rivers down his anguished face, matching the little (and not-so-little!) rivers of sweat and semen streaming off his stomach and chest and arms and legs and pretty much everywhere else now, too. I briefly met his eyes once more, but he quickly avoided my gaze, as if too ashamed of what he had just done to face me.

He was utterly spent, shattered and broken, destroyed by his miraculous achievement. He was already withdrawing into a desolate corner of acute embarrassment and excruciatingly painful cramped exhaustion.

He was spared no shame nor afforded any dignity, as he remained uncomfortably strung out over that log, still bound to the ground, mighty phallus still standing proudly erect and defiant, twitching and jerking as if it was still ejecting invisible fluids, or perhaps daring us to try for a fourth coming.

Bodily fluids were dribbling everywhere. He was bleeding significantly where his tenacious struggles against his bindings had lacerated his wrists and ankles. Little rivers of blood were streaming off his balls, too, that were now hanging on by the merest of threads. The leather strips still held him in their unforgiving grasp, encircling him with stingingly sharp reminders he was still about to be neutered.

He had no relief, no escape, nowhere to look, and nowhere to hide himself. The muted crowd stared in stunned silence. He was not even spared the ultimate indignity of everyone hearing his disconsolate sobs. He was _still_ about to lose his manhood, and was now thoroughly soiled and shamed in every conceivable way as well.

And his ordeal was _far_ from over. The Legend of the Third Coming was indeed born (or maybe that should be forcibly ejaculated into conception?). But the legend was not yet complete. Because even after that legendary performance, the obligation to castrate him remained until the jarl said otherwise.

Romeo could do nothing more to help himself. His future was now entirely in my hands once more. I was determined not to _-ahem-_ blow it again.

 

I solemnly walked away from the dripping, sobbing, empty, mess of a man, and placed the dripping, sopping, overflowing, mess of a cup, on the armrest of the jarl’s throne.

I grovelled low. I knelt humbly. And then I went in for the kill.

“My Lord, I really would prefer to keep these nuts in production for you. I am quite sure that I can greatly improve the disappointing output of your inadequate, impotent slaves in the milking factory. Perhaps you would be so kind as to let me take charge of those slaves that could be, shall we say, _optimized?_ ”

 

The jarl stared in wonder at the warm frothy pool, slowly oozing over the rim of the cup and spreading over his armrest. Perhaps that symbolizes the moment when the tide first began to rise inexorably against him, begun by Romeo’s torrential flash flood that had just inundated the town square.

This time the outcome was not threatened by insulting his machine, but the danger of insulting his personal manhood directly. But my honeyed words gently caressed away his own feelings of complete inadequacy at the awesome display of prowess, as I kept focused on the problem of low production, and carefully steered clear of any suggestion that Romeo had just outperformed him by a mile*!*.  
(*!*That’s not a bad estimate of his altitude record. Lol.)

Each wordless moment that followed took an eternity to tick by, but this time I was confident he had only one choice. I waited peacefully, in serene calm, for the inevitable outcome. Besides, hearing Romeo’s subdued sobs were helping the jarl to feel like the better man, soothing his ego far more than anything else I could say now.

Someone began to clap slowly. Softly, gently, almost apologetically breaking the hushed awe. Then someone else joined in. Then another, and moments later the whole crowd was applauding cautiously. This was _not_ for the jarl’s benefit. This was a sincere, respectful honoring of the immense masculinity of the vandalized Orc, who had just proved to one and all, that he was far more of a man than anyone else present.

The crowd’s acknowledgement also indicated their approval that he should remain whole. It added momentum to the turning tide, piling more pressure on the jarl to endorse my request. No jarl, no matter how pig-headed and selfish, could resist it. He gave it a good try, though, taking his sweet time about making the decision. For the very last time: the jarl was just that sort of selfish guy.

It felt like the whole afternoon had passed before he finally nodded, slowly, imperceptibly.

_YES! At last, the victory was ours._

I smiled equally imperceptibly, and turned away to tend to Romeo, ceremonial knife at the ready.

 

That caused quite an unexpected stir. The imperceptible nod was not yet perceptible beyond my close proximity to the jarl. Some outraged onlookers objected indignantly at my vindictiveness. Some even fainted. They all thought I was now about to claim my purchase, removing Romeo’s remarkable testicles in evil spite and ultimate cruelty of "severance pay".

Romeo had not seen the jarl make his decision either, but he heard the crowd’s reaction, alright. When he saw me approaching, brandishing that knife, he managed to add a look of disbelieving disillusionment to all of the other emotions showing on his face. His disappointed eyes were without hatred this time, though. He did not blame me for what he presumed I was about to do. Instead I saw sad resignation that he thought it was simply not meant to be.

Or maybe he was just in such a world of hurt already, that a bit more made no difference to him anymore.

 

Romeo was still crying softly, overwhelmed by the extreme pain of the many cramped muscles that now added their venomous protests to those of his abused genitals. He was trying not to shake too much, because the leather strips were poised to finish the garrotting his last big push had started. He was in real danger of auto-completing the knife’s intended job all by himself, with the slightest wrong move, and the spasms of cramp wracking each and every muscle threatened to seize control of that destiny from him.

Even now, totally spent after giving everything he had, crushingly disappointed that it was all apparently to no avail, somehow he had to summon even more supreme willpower to hang on for dear life. Every moment the jarl delayed, threatened to _-ahem-_ neuter his entire effort.

Even in triumph, he was obliged to linger at the very edge of physical collapse and emotional disintegration, until the jarl was ready to officially concede the win. I stood between Romeo’s trembling legs, knife poised eagerly, waiting for the jarl to announce to the crowd what only I already knew was coming.

Romeo saw my pose, and whimpered in ultimate defeat. He had given blood, sweat, and tears. And semen. And he believed it was not enough. It was as if the Sword of Damocles was _already falling_ towards the last bits of flesh keeping his nuts attached, as he steeled himself for the final cuts it would make when it hit. I could not even reassure him otherwise, again not risking damaging the outcome with a pre-emptive announcement of the jarl’s choice.

We had _won_ , and yet he was totally convinced his castration was mere moments away. Romeo’s heroic performance had changed nothing from his perspective. He was still doomed to the same fate and endless suffering. Now compounded by the exhaustion, the cramps, the pain, the humiliation, the embarrassments, and the thorough soiling and defilement of his body and mind. Romeo’s abject misery was all but complete.

 

The nauseating nightmare was horrible - witnessing this ghastly scene was without doubt the absolute worst moment of my life. The threat of my beheading at Helgen was child’s play by comparison. There was nothing I could do, except feel my heart breaking with sympathy for the tormented Orc, as we both waited yet another lifetime for the jarl’s convenience.

The jarl slowly looked from cup to Romeo, then back to the cup, then back to the distraught Romeo once more. For once he was not relishing the torture he was deliberately inflicting on another, but quite simply in shock from what he had seen. The tide continued rising, Romeo’s flood continued oozing towards him, and the sobbing and clapping continued to massage his ego, until he recovered himself enough to officially concede at last.

The imperceptible nod grew to be perceptible. The respectful applause of the crowd gave way to thunderous rapture. The knife finally got its moment of glory, too. I have never cut anything so quickly, so gently, so delicately, or with as much satisfaction, as when I sliced through those leather strips to release my expensive purchase back into the care of their original owner.


	11. Romeo's Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romeo gets his own back, in the only way he knows how.

### 11\. Romeo’s Revenge

Romeo yelped in pain as I gently peeled the leather strictures out of the bleeding wounds.

The tears filling his eyes had obscured his vague view of what I had cut. Part of his mind was interpreting the pain as my completing his gender change. Only the delay between the cutting and the pain, confused him about his new sexual identity.

The thunderous cheering from the crowd meant nothing, because of the mixed messages they had been sending him all day. My broad smile told him nothing, either. So I put him out of his misery, showed him the leather strips covered in blood, and reassured him that he was very much still a HE. His supreme efforts had been fruitful. His fruit was still his. And his to keep for all time.

The still-twitching cock finally got the message that it could stand down. The rigid boner that had lasted continuously for over six hours now, began to subside at last.

The guards released his wrists, and heaved his limp body over the log, so he could sit on the damp ground and rest. Romeo cried out even more as the back-breaking posture of the morning was relieved, and he could flex those gigantic muscles once more. Every single part of his body and mind was hurting, as he rubbed his raw wrists and ankles, and gingerly felt his abused nuts to reassure himself they were indeed still there.

Someone in the crowd threw me a loincloth, that I might cover him with some dignity. But no-one was going to easily forget the sight they had seen, and quite frankly, even the most skilled tailor in Tamriel stood no chance of concealing that now legendary equipment, never mind a loincloth. So, I used it to clean his face instead, first dabbing gently around his wincing eyes, then the rest of his face, working my way down to his neck. His coarse stubble fought back against such pleasantries, hanging on to the fluids and snagging the cloth, but I kept dabbing as he kept weeping softly.

 

I was about to start wiping the broad acreage of his hairy chest when he pounced, catching me totally off guard, encircling me with those massive arms, and squelching me firmly into that slimy wet mass of steaming hot muscle and hair. I was like a ragdoll to him. A mere toy, that he could play with as he wished, as he wiped me about like a towel.

The boot was on the other foot now. He gave me a taste of what it feels like to be helpless under the total domination of a stranger.

I felt like dirty laundry as he rubbed me around on his washboard abs. But I just got dirtier as his sweaty ejaculate was smeared into an even stickier, gooier gunk between us, gluing our bodies together.

And then he broke down completely, bursting into major tears on my shoulder, wailing and bawling as he started a second flood, while I was hugged to near-death in that muscular prison.

He hadn’t been cleaning himself. He hadn’t been “using” me. Not as a towel, anyway. More like a comfort blanket, perhaps. He had been so desperate for something to hug, to soothe his tender everything, that he had grabbed the first and only thing that came to hand. Me, in other words.

He wasn’t about to let go of his substitute teddy bear, clinging on to me like a limpet, but he did let me wriggle about into a more comfortable position, and even work one arm free. I reached around a huge, shuddering shoulder to comfort him, patting and rubbing him gently on the back, while the torrential tears flooded forth.

The strange day just got stranger still. I was absolutely _not_ holding the biggest baby in all of Skyrim. He was most definitely holding me.

What could I do? Pinned against that heaving chest, I felt nothing but aching sympathy for this emotional wreckage of an Orc. I gave him as long as he needed, while the guards milled about uncertainly. I discretely signaled they should give us space. I later regretted that, fearing I had made a fatal mistake.

 

Many minutes later, the crying slowly subsided, being increasingly punctuated with some very wet sounding sniffles and snuffles and snatched breathing. He was over the worst of it now, and gradually composing himself again.

 

And then my blood froze. I felt a massive razor-sharp tusk dragging slowly, deliberately, menacingly, across my face.

 

I saw my life flash before my eyes. I fully expected my throat to be ripped open in an instant by one casual flick of his jaw, and the guards were too far away to stop him.

I squirmed in panic, fearing his vengeance for the suffering I had put him through. But it was no more effective than Romeo’s futile thrashing against his bonds all morning. Those arms had me trapped in a muscular cage far tighter than Romeo’s bindings had restrained him.

There was no escape from the fate he intended for me, just as he had been powerless to escape the fate I had planned for him. He could do whatever he wanted with me, and like a fool I had walked blindly into his trap.

I closed my eyes and braced myself for the worst, submitting to his will just as I had forced him to submit to mine. I made peace with my maker, as I waited for him to take his bloody revenge.

 

I am deeply ashamed to admit all that, especially knowing Romeo as I do now. Because he took me by complete surprise yet again, as the most delicate whisper of a kiss caressed my cheek.

Romeo followed up with a second, even more ethereal than the first.

He whispered “Thank you” in my ear, then softly kissed that too, for good measure.

Such is the revenge that anyone has to fear from Romeo. Of being _loved_ to death. The suffocating hug continued, smothering me in humble shame that I should have suspected for one disgraceful moment that he intended me any harm.

I cannot quite describe how it feels to be nuzzled by Romeo. It is very confusing to be so lovingly appreciated, while simultaneously threatened with instant death by impalement. I was still in shock at my unexpected deliverance, when he gave me an extra long, extra tight squeeze, squishing me once more against his steaming, solid, now-very-sticky body. Then he gently let me go.

 

I sat back, and met the real Romeo for the very first time. Still naked, still tearful, still dripping, still sweating, still stained, still steaming, still bleeding. Still terrifyingly fearsome and intimidating to behold. But now also magnificently handsome. And in those bright, smiling, _gleaming_ eyes I could now also see the strongest, most determined, most resolute, most stalwart, most noble, most appreciative, most gentle, most tender, most kind, most forgiving, most _loving_ man I know. Because, without a shadow of a doubt, _Romeo is just that sort of guy._

He had me crying now. Me, the mighty dragonborn. In tears! Can you imagine?

Romeo smiled coyly as he delicately brushed my wet cheeks with a huge paw. It was the final part of the now-completed Legend, thankfully, so I can easily deny that any such unbecoming girly behavior actually transpired.

In an instant, his menacingly gruesome appearance had transformed into the most freakishly adorable angel. Romeo bears no grudges, and has no animosity. He just exudes deep loving gratitude for every scrap of kindness that falls his way.

I hadn’t even stopped to consider how big a deal my intervention was for him. (And that pair of boulders dangling behind that third leg are a very big deal indeed, I can assure you!). He had received so little kindness since leaving his home. And now some total stranger had spent an absolute _fortune_ , not to mention risking the jarl’s extreme displeasure, to come to his rescue.

I withered under the blazing heat once more.

The first time our eyes had met, I was scorched by the flames of fury. This time, I was combusting in an inferno, engulfed in a nuclear firestorm of love radiating from a positively glowing Romeo.

I moved in to give him a brief hug of my own. “You are so _very_ welcome,” I whispered in his ear.

 

I had expected things to finish there. Romeo was saved, my job was done, the mercy mission completed. And, a new legend created to boot. But, in hindsight, this was just the start of a very special relationship.

Our paths had not just crossed, but intertwined and permanently entangled together. It was the beginning of the most unexpected, yet absolutely the most _rewarding_ partnership of my life. It was perhaps the wrong way around, as most people chat first, and then move on to the intimate sex, whereas he and I had, well, ‘nuff said already. But it made no difference. Romeo easily rose above the evil circumstances that had brought us together, forgiving my clumsy introductory “handshake”, and instead warmly receiving my good intentions with respect and honor and love. I realized he had likewise only met the real me a short while ago, when I cut the leather strips, and not his scrotum.

My small act of kindness to Romeo proved to be the catalyst for an unimaginable escalation. A snowballing, cascading chain of events that would make the whole world unrecognizable in just a few short months. What goes around comes around. But when Romeo is involved, it comes around with compound interest. And cherries on top. And maybe some whipped cream, if you’ll pardon the euphemism.

I did not know it then, but I had just found my own savior. His skills and dedication and loyalty and love were every bit the answer to my own prayers. I had been watching my fortune piling up, and wondering how in Tamriel I could put it to the good uses Talos would have wanted. Romeo had all of the answers to that question. And not just in the exorbitant price of his family jewels.

That single most expensive purchase I have ever made, has proven to be without question the **_best_** purchase I have ever made, too. Nothing else comes close for value of return on investment. I cannot hope to express to you just how priceless the rewards have been. But I’ll try to explain anyway.....


	12. Business as usual. NOT!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The silly dragonborn realizes the commitment is far bigger than intended.  
> A vague plan takes shape on the fly, while struggling to get things sorted in the milking factory.  
> But Romeo helps out, providing some unexpected relief.
> 
> Despite the innuendo, this chapter is all business, and no play. It sets the plot foundations for the rest of the story (and all of the second half, as well)

### 12\. Business as usual. NOT!

I cut through the ropes holding Romeo's ankles, and wrapped a gigantic arm around my neck, intending to help my new friend up. But I failed miserably. His legs were like jelly, and he was too weak to assist. A brave guard stepped forward to take his other arm, but together we barely managed to haul Romeo high enough for him to sit on the log. It took two more guards, taking a leg each, before we could lift Romeo off the ground and stagger back to his cell in the milking factory. If you still doubted the bulk of beef on his body, that should make it clear just how hefty he was. And that was after a year of limited rations in the factory. You can only imagine what he’s like when properly nourished.

As we gently placed Romeo on his bunk, the realization suddenly dawned of the magnitude of the commitment I had made. In the heat of the moment, I had not just pleaded for Romeo to be spared, but foolishly promised the jarl that I would improve production by optimizing _all_ of his milking slaves.

“You _idiot_ ,” I swore under my breath, as I tried to kick myself. But a deal is a deal, and the jarl had accepted my offer. And I’m not the sort of guy that reneges on any agreement.

 

A quick tour of the factory was deeply discouraging. Built into a dank dungeon below the main barracks jail, it was cold, dark and musty. The claustrophobic environment secreted an oppressive gloom from every murky corner.

When I inspected the milking machine, the unsuitability of the suction tubes for even an averagely sized man was blatantly obvious. But of course no-one would dare to tell the jarl that. _The suction tube was probably modeled to fit the jarl’s own private parts_ , I thought wryly. He was certainly vain enough for that. But how could I raise production when the physical hardware was just so... inappropriate?

Optimization was suddenly a word I loathed. The daunting task the jarl had been so kind to let me take on, was looking more and more impossible. But I had to try, even as I started thinking of excuses and ways out of a promise I could not possibly keep.

My plan to intervene had not considered any aftermath. I was now very much making things up as I went along. At least it was clear that any chance of success lay with the milking slaves themselves, and that priority guided my first decisions.

 

I insisted there should be no milking for the rest of that day. The other slaves were already deeply unsettled by the day’s events, and I wanted to make a better first impression on them, than I had on Romeo. I ordered unlimited rations, plus ale and mead, buying the food and drink myself in the market.

When the guards protested at such benevolent generosity, they were invited to join the feast, and found an extra instant bonus in their wages for their co-operation. I even asked them to treat the slaves decently from then on, promising further bonuses if they did so. Most complied without objection. Many had signed up for duty purely to escape being a press gang target themselves, and were more than happy to refrain from the sadistic bullying the jarl had commanded. The rising tide seeped into the factory, as the atmosphere shifted subtly yet significantly from that moment on. Those guards that enjoyed their old job too much, quickly stood out. I tried to assign them to jobs that kept them away from direct contact with "my" slaves. As much as it goes against my nature to talk as if I owned these men, I felt very much responsible for them all.

The cells were left unlocked for the rest of the day, and the slaves were allowed to wander around the facility as they wished. Most made a bee-line for Romeo’s cell, of course. They carried him to the showers, to clean him up, and there was almost a hint of.... optimism.... in the air. More words were spoken in excited chatter that afternoon, than the whole year before it. The novelty was more important than I realized, for it paved the way for some of that kindness to come snowballing back around.

One lone slave approached me apprehensively. Very cautious, very nervous, very apologetic, highly uncertain of just what liberties he could take. But Romeo’s courage had inspired him, and his own bravery prepared the very first snowball. Head bowed, not daring to look me in the eyes, he tentatively asked me for some linen wraps and herbs, and needle and thread, that he might dress Romeo’s serious wounds. He explained that he had some basic healing skills, and wanted to do his bit to help.

Interesting..... an inkling of an idea struggled to catch my attention, as the first snowball got ready to roll. I thanked the man for his offer. I gave a guard some gold and the shopping list, and sent him to the traders to purchase the requested supplies for the medic.

 

A little later, some of the other slaves asked if they could help to prepare the feast in the kitchen. They were keen to make the best use of this “holiday” to escape the usual mindless boredom of hours of solitary confinement in their cells. And suddenly that inkling of an idea exploded in my mind, sending the snowball hurtling down the hill, catalyzing into a whole new unforeseen opportunity.

These men _all_ had skills. They had _all_ been diverted from other slave camps. (All but Romeo, that is.) They could _all_ do _much more_ than just milk themselves. But they needed a place suitable to accommodate their talents, and the existing milking factory was _not_ it.

The fledgling chance that Romeo had bought, suddenly had the potential to escalate into something _so_ much bigger. So long as it wasn’t crushed by the jarl re-asserting his authority. That danger was hammered home only too starkly, as I was urgently summoned to explain my reprehensibly lenient treatment of his slaves. Romeo had won the battle of strange day decisively. But the long-term war against the jarl was only just kicking off now.

 

Prostrating at his throne, I tentatively stood my ground. I politely insisted that the jarl must let me optimize the slaves as best I saw fit, as had been promised at Romeo’s reprieve. Production had fallen so far short, for so long now, that surely the jarl could wait one more day? I took a huge gamble, and _guaranteed_ he would receive his full quota the very next day, even though I still had no idea how it could be done. He grudgingly agreed to tolerate my insurrection, but assured me I would be up for a similar auction if I failed to deliver on my promise.

With the jarl suitably placated, I risked gambling again. I was already in so deep, I decided to go all-in, and try for those vague ideas of _more_ that were still ricocheting around in my mind. I expressed my concern that long term optimization, in the environment of the milking factory going about business as usual, was highly likely to fail. I declared that future disruptions to supply would be avoided if I could construct a new slave facility to my own specifications, and transfer my choice of slaves to it for maximum, and permanent, optimization.

The jarl liked the sound of that. About the “no future supply disruptions”, I mean. But he baulked at spending anything himself, in spite of the small fortune that I had dropped at his feet earlier that day. I didn’t care. Encouraged that it was not ruled out instantly, I pushed for what I wanted. I offered to cover the construction expenses myself, if he would donate a suitable piece of land for me to build on. He took the bait, as his greedy eyes lit up once more. And he granted permission for me to rebuild a derelict, dragon-destroyed estate just outside of town. But he now expected me to deliver the milk quota every day without fail. He had a log waiting for me if I missed it, just once.

That was how Milk and Honey Co was born. Rising like a phoenix from the ashes of that cremated estate, given life by Romeo’s spark of hope that had ignited big dreams of..... _more_. Much more. Quite how big, and quite how much, was still undefined and unknown. But there was the rather urgent small matter of tomorrow’s production to deal with first.

 

I made some more expensive purchases that day. After the jarl, I made a quick stop at the inn, before heading to the blacksmith with a highly unusual request. I stayed with him while he made the first prototype, discussing and explaining the important features, making sure he understood what I wanted. Then I left him to finish the rest. The generous pile of gold persuaded him to keep working late into that night, until he had completed all of my unique commissions.

In the meantime, I returned to the milking factory, to share the feast, and deliver another speech. This time, to the slaves. They had seen the miracle in the town square, obliged to watch Romeo’s punishment as a warning of what fate would befall them if they failed to perform adequately in future. Many were badly shaken up by thoughts of their own future demises. And while many were still disorientated by the disruption to their monotonous routine, they all listened to what I asked of them, and the promises I made in return for their collaboration. I hoped the utopian dreams were not beyond their imagination and comprehension. They had all night to think it over. So did I, for I did not sleep a wink.

As I anxiously paced about the factory, I gravitated towards Romeo’s cell. He too was not sleeping, and beckoned me to join him. I was disappointed to see that the guards had secured his shackles again. I considered him my friend - my equal - after what we had shared in the town square. He had proven himself more than worthy, and it felt wrong to see him humiliated that way. He brushed my concerns aside. "I am still a slave," he shrugged calmly. Then added, with a smile, "but at least I'm still all here. Thanks to you. I don't know how I can ever repay what I owe you for your intervention."

"You owe me nothing, Romeo. I was just doing my duty. I am glad we succeeded, but it was _your_ heroics that won the day. Talos would be proud. I am honored just to have been part of it. You are one remarkable Orc. But I can't understand how you came to be in this awful place... and sentenced to such a ghastly punishment..."

I gladly took the chance to get to know the man better. I asked him details about his history. He told me his story, blushing with pride that I should take such an interest in his humble origins. He shyly told me about the hopes and dreams that had made him leave his home, and how it had all gone so utterly, horribly wrong. I counted my lucky stars that I had not fallen foul of the press gang in the same way he had.

And then he eagerly listened to my vague plans and ideas for the new estate. Raised an eyebrow, when I lamented the foolish promises I had made to the jarl. His barrage of questions was flattering, as he gently probed to see how far I had thought things through. I was liking him more and more. And he seemed to warm to me too. Mutual respect blossomed into mutual attraction, and we chatted the rest of the night away, even chuckling with amusement as we conjured fanciful ideas for how to make the jarl pay for his crimes against humanity (and mer-manity!).

That night, our time together flew by, as we enjoyed each others' company. Dawn was upon us all too quickly, and it was time for the first milking of the day.

 

Rubbing my sleepy eyes as I approached the machine, I stopped to rub them again. No, I was not hallucinating. I had recruited a zealous army. Each and every man stood ready in the queue, determined to do their bit for the war effort. They were all raring to go, most having already prepared themselves in advance, and keeping themselves primed for a quick delivery. My spirits lifted a little at their show of keen enthusiasm for the deeply unpleasant ritual ahead.

Every man had a cup to hand, just in case they should “do a Romeo”. I was further heartened that his title of ridicule from the previous day had already transformed into a term of endearment.

I ordered the fettering process to protect the hardware was no longer applicable. I didn’t care if the slaves let the machine do its job, or pre-empted it helping themselves. They could simply pour the cup contents into the suction tube if necessary. They could squeeze out any remnants with their own hands if they wished. The important thing was, not one drop was going to waste, as I nervously hoped they could _-ahem-_ pull it off. My fate was very much in their hands. As was their tackle.

My new purchases were also ready for use. The blacksmith had done a superb job, worth every piece of gold. For those men that found the jarl’s petite device uncomfortably small, every stall now had an optional tankard adapter, complete with an adjustable leather orifice, and some butter and grease to improve the seal. Not perfect, but it sufficed. While perhaps not a pleasure to use, it was very much more comfortable, and no longer a dreaded ordeal of penis torture.

 

I did not insult Romeo by asking that he contribute anything. In fact, he was ordered to remain in his cell, exempted from duties, having done quite enough already as far as I was concerned. Besides, he was still bleeding and in considerable pain from his wounds. But there was simply no stopping him. He stubbornly took his place in the queue, stoically lining up with the other slaves, equally determined to do his bit to make sure my plans should not fail at the final hurdle by delivering inadequate, disappointing quantities to the jarl.

He had shown me the kind of guy he was with yesterday’s kiss, and I had suspected he would be there, defying me. I grinned broadly as I presented him with the flagon adapter, for his exclusive use. It was a near perfect fit. After yesterday’s legendary performance, he was now able to enjoy himself. He delivered _three times_ the average man’s contribution, wounds and all.  
_In yer face, jarl. So much for the gay sex theory!_

 

Thankfully, with the new equipment, everyone performed better than they ever had before. The optimization was off to a great start. Better than I had dared hope for.

Romeo earnestly pulled me aside after the first milking. He had mulled over my ideas, and had some suggestions for me. I politely humored my new friend, and listened attentively. His serious words sobered me up instantly. He started telling me about tracking production via individual donation charts for every man. These could show the “optimization” at work, monitor how comfortably we were meeting the daily quota, and highlight any drop-offs in performance, identifying precisely who was producing what and their nominal performance level. My head was spinning, trying to take it all in and keep up.

Smart guy, that Romeo. It was abundantly clear that he knew everything about running a business that I didn’t. He understood the subtle nuances of statistics, scheduling, planning, goals and targets, budgeting, resources, materials, deliveries, logistics, supply and demand, profit and loss, and all of the other clever little details that make the difference between a successful enterprise and an expensive failure. He especially understood “optimization” - the word I had merrily bandied about in front of the jarl, without really knowing what in Tamriel I was talking about.

 _That_ was the moment when I realized he was destined to be my savior, every bit as much as I had saved him the day before. And more. _Much_ more. When Romeo is involved, what goes around, comes around with compound interest.

I knew he was the perfect man for running the new company. Far more capable than me, anyway. He was initially quite bashful when I offered him the job, blushing beetroot as I praised his talents. But he didn’t need much convincing. I saw the spark in his eyes, when I asked him to steer the future of Milk and Honey Co. Once he realized this was the opportunity of his lifetime to make his own dreams come true, he could barely contain his excitement, and enthusiastically jumped at the chance to create that better world he had wished for. Because he had seen the potential in my basic ideas, and in his visions they were soaring far, far higher than my limited view. I was once more a passenger, along for the wildest ride of my life, as I hung on to Romeo’s.... ummm.... As I hung on to Romeo.

He was in charge from that moment on, secretly managing _everything_ , trotting me out as a figurehead as and when required. I might “own” the company, but Romeo is absolutely the CEO. I do whatever he tells me, even though he lets me pretend it’s my idea and my decision. Bless him. I so love the way he flatters my ego. Remind me to thank his parents for raising such a wonderful son, and for teaching him writing and arithmetic, amongst all of the other things he's good at. Because his skills alone enabled Milk and Honey Co to rise immeasurably far above the simple possibilities of _more_ I had vaguely glimpsed.

And so it was that “I” decreed the new production charts be used from the second milking of the day, sending a guard out to acquire the necessary paper and ink and quill. Romeo had those charts prepared on time, too. And that began his perfect record of meeting deadlines. I wish I knew how he does that. He doesn’t just deliver miracles in the town square, you know.

 

It is easy to make big improvements when the old tools were as bad as they were. Free of the jarl’s size restrictions, with ample sustenance, everyone was performing far better than expected, and sustaining it, too. The rest and feast of the day before had rejuvenated everyone, and it was only mid afternoon when the army of willing slaves won our next battle, delivering the jarl’s daily quota well ahead of schedule. A loud cheer raised the roof off of the secretive place, as the slaves celebrated their success.

My kindness to the slaves the day before had been repaid. With interest. They had fought for me with fervor, buying into the dreams I had shared with them, in the hope that my promises to them would be just as fruitful as the one I had delivered to Romeo. I shook my head in disbelief at the achievement, as the dream showed a glimmer of life. We _could_ do this. We could actually pull it off. _Another_ miracle could happen.

I heaved an almighty sigh of relief, expressed my grateful thanks for their outstanding efforts, and relaxed the routine, scheduling milkings every two hours instead, already seeking a useful head start for the next day’s quota.

 

Romeo immediately pulled me to one side again. It was obvious that “optimization” was working, and working well. But, you can only _prove_ optimization when you have numbers to _compare_ , and for now the only statistic we had was the daily total. And even that was only “not enough” versus “four milkings early”. The charts would show what each man was delivering now, but that was inadequate information. There was no way to gauge who had improved, or by how much.

We had to establish baseline production levels prior to strange day, to get an idea of how everyone was faring. He asked me to obtain the detailed audit results that the previous manager had reported to the jarl, which would be the _only_ pre-existing records. But he tactfully expressed doubt about their accuracy. The audit had been a backside-protecting exercise, after all, and the creative accountancy was in no way reliable. Smart guy, that Romeo.

He suggested taking the opportunity to make everyone revert to the old procedures for the rest of the day, so that we could acquire our own accurate data to work with, without jeopardizing the daily quota. He would correlate those figures with the audit results, and the vague guesstimates of previous daily totals, to define the goalposts. That would give us a clear baseline target to work from. My head was spinning again, and I wasn’t even sure I followed him correctly. But I already trusted that he knew his stuff and would get it right, so I gave the orders to make it all happen.

There was some disappointment amongst the men. Not surprisingly, they were not at all keen to go back to the jarl’s “one-size-fits-all” chastity devices, and fettering restraint. I left it to Romeo to explain the details to the disgruntled men, already automatically adopting a strategy of openly sharing information, rather than keeping secrets.

It was not a welcome regression, but it was essential. And thankfully temporary. It only took three days of post-quota measurements before we had enough information to permanently abandon the jarl’s detested procedures.

 

And I made a mental note to find out how the jarl was getting _his_ information, when my presence was demanded once more, mere _minutes_ after I had relaxed the routine, to explain my outrageous flagrant disregard for his scheduling regulations.

The jarl was getting mightily miffed with my maverick manipulation of his milking factory. But I had an impenetrable liquid defense. I placed the barrels of cum at the foot of his throne, some of it seeping past the stoppers and oozing ominously towards him, just as the overflowing cup had done the day before. The tide was rising a little stronger now, and it did all of the explaining necessary.

“Oh! I see. Errrr. Good show. The wife will be pleased.” She was indeed ecstatic, clapping her hands and squealing with glee. It meant she could resume her daily ritual, in her deviant emulation of her heroine (Cleopatra), although not quite in the same way as history describes it. _Ewwwww. Gross._ It seems the twisted jarl had attracted an equally twisted wife.

At least now I knew exactly what the sole purpose of the milking factory was. And my indignation that the jarl should condemn so many innocent men to such a ghastly fate, just for the perverted indulgence of his spouse, made me more determined than ever that the tide simply had to keep on rising until these worthless parasites were exterminated.

 

Next, I placed the orders for lumber and workers to build the security fence for the new home base of Milk and Honey Co. So far, so good, but the gold was dwindling fast. I hoped there would be enough. Romeo helped me with the budgeting, of course, so I had nothing to worry about, really. The peculiar thing was, I found it easy to hand him total control of my purse strings. I now trusted him with my life, after his kiss on my cheek had gazumped the kiss of death I had expected in the town square.

 

Back at the factory, I began the interviews for the selection of those slaves to be transferred to the Milk and Honey Co estate. Over the next few days, each and every slave was interviewed, where their previous production was evaluated, along with a personal assessment, to calculate their “optimization potential”. But it was not all plain sailing.

Some were so institutionalized, they could not even comprehend their lives changing. They were already deeply disturbed by the disruption to their routine of the previous days, and would be destroyed by the move to new surroundings.

A few were just frightened of change, and preferred to stick with the conditions they knew, deeply unpleasant though they were.

A few felt they were already at maximum, and dreaded being “optimized” in the way that Romeo had been _-ahem-_ manhandled in the town square. My assurances that such deeds would never happen again did not appease them all, however.

My heart ached at the thought of leaving anyone behind in that abysmal dungeon. But I did not push them, because I knew the jarl would not let me take everyone. Some would have to be sacrificed, remaining in that hell-hole, that others might have a chance. Sometimes you have to leave good men behind, for the greater good.

There were equally many slaves so desperate to escape, so intoxicated with the dreams of what the new estate could be, that they promised extravagantly ridiculous improvements in a vain attempt to persuade me. For a while I thought less of them for assuming I would be gullible enough to believe them. But, that was unfair of me, for I had not had to endure life in that awful place.

Desperation increased as the men shared their interview experiences at the dinner table. By the end of the week, some were promising to deliver the jarl’s daily quota all by themselves. And finally I could see what drove these men to such exaggeration. Their extreme desire to get out of there at any cost was tangible. It was humbling to see such single-minded intent. They would go to any lengths, as each man tried to outbid everyone else, just to secure a coveted place at Milk and Honey Co.

 

They need not have tried so hard. The interviews were for decorative purposes only. **_All_** were invited to move, and any that accepted the invitation were warmly welcomed. My fledgling influence with the jarl was still weak, but it had the irresistibly forceful backing of my proven dragonborn strength behind it, as well as having delivered on my daily production promise so far, so the jarl was not going to refuse his new thane any request so trivial as my choice of slaves to “optimize”.

So long as I made the request reasonably, and with proper respect, of course. The protocol game still had to be played, for now. The tide was still rising, but it was far too soon to start strong-arming the jarl with dictatorial demands. Besides, my own tackle was still on the block if the new facility failed to deliver as promised. I was now obliged to deliver the quota every single day, and up for auction if I missed that just once. Gulp. But I was in safe hands. Romeo’s hands, of course. And it is a far more pleasant arrangement than when he had been in my hands, I can assure you!


	13. Signs of Mara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are not as they seem. Time for a little love to seep in, perhaps.... Well, angsty fluff at least. 
> 
> This chapter is one of the more repetitive. Sorry about that. Every time I try to cut it, I find the message so important, so fundamental, so utterly HUGE, I leave it as is.
> 
> Now, brace yourself. We're going in, and the ride might surprise you.

### 13\. Signs of Mara

There was one particularly distressed slave that stood out memorably at the interviews. He was not only more desperate than anyone else, but also the most despondent. This tall, muscular Nord was highly embarrassed by his substantially below average endowment. And yet, he was easily the top producer using the old milking machine, delivering _more than twice as much_ as the next best man.

Not _too_ surprising, I thought. That machine suited his diminutive size perfectly, fitting him like a glove where it fitted no-one else comfortably, and Romeo not at all.

The despairing Nord was beside himself in pessimistic dejection, fretting that his impressive output would automatically exclude him from moving to the new facility. He knew there was simply no way he could physically deliver anything more, no matter how skilfully I tried to “optimize” him. He was also smart enough to see the futility of promising more.

He broke down, so close to tears he couldn’t speak. It was obvious that he wanted to be selected more than anything else in the world. And he knew he had absolutely nothing to offer me to make it happen. He just stood there, lost for words, shaking his head, while his damp cheeks betrayed his true feelings. His misery was touching, and my heart bled for the man.

 

Under normal circumstances, his angst might have been valid. But these were _not_ normal circumstances. His place was secured long before the interview began. But he had no way of knowing that. I considered teasing him and playing along with his worst fears for a while, but that would simply have been too cruel. Because, I understood very clearly where his pain was coming from.

So I gave him the good news straight away. He took some convincing, too. He could scarcely believe his ears that I would absolutely _not_ be leaving him behind. My ribs are still bruised from the crushing bear hug he gave me in his thankful joy, when he ultimately accepted I was _not_ having him on.

 

You see, the third coming was _not_ , by any means, as foregone a conclusion as it might have seemed. In fact, in hindsight, I am quite certain that it _should_ have been doomed to dismal failure, if we had even started the attempt at all. There is _another_ legend, that _should_ be even more legendary than the Third Coming. And yet it remains a confidential secret. Until now.

As I fumbled my appeal after the second coming, and the long silence signaled the jarl was not going to change his mind, Romeo had been pleading with the Gods for their divine intervention. Whether it really was Mara and Talos answering him, or just that eerie telepathy that everyone sometimes feels, Romeo felt compelled to look directly at the source of his inspiration.

That was the moment he vowed to impress the jarl beyond any doubt, and began demanding we try for the third coming. He knew what he had to do, even though his own body was already insisting it was impossible, and his abused genitals were resentfully shouting “enough already”.

Romeo had shared his deeply intimate personal knowledge with me in utter desperation that I could somehow force it to happen. But all the while, I was not to know that he was fighting against a not-so-little voice in his head, absolutely _screaming_ at him to give up a battle that could not be won.

He _should_ have been overpowered by it countless times, but he refused to submit. He never once hinted that he could not take any more, even when he couldn’t. He never once asked me to pause my merciless excitation. He just valiantly struggled on against the insurmountable opposition.

There had been so many moments when Romeo was slamming into a wall, physically unable to go any further. Moments that his determination crumbled against the overwhelming objections when his tortured balls and cock declared he was asking for the impossible. Moments when he needed encouragement to overrule the “cease and desist” orders coming from his nether regions. Moments when he needed reassurance, as he weakly mustered the desire to pursue that third coming, and keep on fighting for victory.

Every time he had felt that utter hopelessness, crushed under the thumb of total defeat, obliged to give up with no way to persevere, he had looked away into the crowd. _And I had followed his eyes._

 

Amidst the shouting, laughing, mocking, rowdy crowd, in the middle of the chained enclave of terrified slaves obliged to observe the punishment, I saw one quiet, hopelessly distraught face standing head and shoulders above everyone else. It was pained, tearful, feeling every bit as much agony as Romeo. The teeth were gritted and the jaw was clenched and the head was being shaken in sheer frustration that it was powerless to help. But those moist eyes were locked on Romeo’s, not blinking for one single moment, fiercely urging him to fight on with every ounce of passion they had behind them. I could _hear_ them shouting their silent support, recognizing all of the beautiful, soothing, loving, words of encouragement being broadcast. I could feel their vibrant power refusing to let Romeo surrender.

 _That_ had been the face of inspiration. That had been the face that gave Romeo the emotional strength he needed. That had been the face that nursed and sustained Romeo on every step of his impossible journey. That had been the face that transmitted a loving lifeline that never wavered for a millisecond. That had been the face that carried Romeo to victory. That had been the face that made the legend possible. That had been the face of Julian, the tall, muscular, Nord milking slave, with the undersized endowment.

 

Wait, Wut? Haaang on a minute. You weren’t thinking _I_ was the Julian in the story title, were you? Shame on you. That would be far too.... contrived.

 

It was then that I had realized, in the midst of battle on that strange day, that the manager had perhaps _not_ been making up the whole gay romance story after all. Romeo did not reach those unimaginable heights of pain and ecstasy because I had pushed him there. He did it because Julian called him there. For all of my physical input under his direction, that was just a means to an end. His will to succeed had nothing to do with me, nor the plan. That incentive came solely from his friend, his lover, his soulmate, protecting and wrapping him in all of the love he needed and then some, to show the world (and especially the jarl) what they both knew Romeo was _really_ capable of.

That minimal eye contact, greatly obscured by tears at both ends for sure, expressed all that ever needed to be said, between two men that cherished each other more than anything else in the world. Romeo had begged again and again for his support, searching the crowd for the man he loved, and Julian did not let him down, giving him everything he had to give. And it had been enough to lift Romeo into the stratosphere, to join the Gods.

 

Without Julian, the third coming would never have made it to the reverential legend status it has today. It would have been a laughing stock of a feeble failure instead, as Romeo capitulated to the unbeatable odds. But thankfully, we don’t have to consider the horrific what ifs of _that_ situation. Because Julian _was_ there, and their love _was_ strong enough to thrust Romeo all the way into the history books.

 

It was simply _inconceivable_ that they should be kept apart after that. Such a tragedy would have been even greater than Romeo losing the bits that made him Him. The reward of being together was the very least they deserved. And I was glad it was within my power to make that happen. My bruised ribs are not quite so sure about that, but that’s a tiny price to pay compared with what these two heroes have been through.

Julian’s role in the legend had earned him every bit as much right to choose his own future. Who was I to deny him that, after what he had done? And you haven’t even heard the half of it yet! That _wasn’t_ the secret legend I referred to earlier.

But now you know why it was Mara, Goddess of Love, that was pleading with Talos on their behalf, to grant them the slimmest of chances for their love to launch a legend, with a little massaging help from me. Because it was only when they answered Romeo, by forcing him to look into the crowd for the first time that day, that he even became aware Julian was present. And as soon as that eye contact was made, the launch of the legend became a foregone conclusion. And what a launch that proved to be.....

 

We owed _everything_ to the downhearted Nord gloomily looking at the floor, who wanted nothing more than to accompany the love of his life to the new estate, and did not know what he could possibly say to convince me. The thought of being separated from Romeo was breaking his heart, and yet neither man had revealed the taboo relationship to me in the few days since strange day.

I could understand that - the jarl had auctioned Romeo’s testicles as punishment, and neither man wanted to admit that the “crime” was indeed true. They might have both been punished even more severely for flaunting their love. Not by me, for sure, but word would surely have gotten back to the jarl....

But I wondered why Romeo had not merely asked me for a favor, to put Julian on my transfer list. He says it was simply all too soon - he did not yet know me well enough, and he had no idea how I would react. But he knew I _would_ ask him _why_ , and that might seal a fate they _didn’t_ want. I might have saved him from being punished for his gay relationship, but from here it was not about letting him _continue_ that relationship, but about maximizing milk production. I might have deliberately left Julian behind, to make sure he did _not_ waste his seed in the other man any more.

 

 _Silly fool_ , that Romeo. Encouraging love as strong as theirs, is far more important than the jarl’s wife’s daily bath. But I suppose he had a point. Not everyone would see it like that, and he didn’t know whether my personal prejudices included sexual orientation or not.

But regardless of my own feelings, it seems obvious that separating the two men would demotivate them both so much, that the loss to milk production would be far greater than any accidental discharges, if they got carried away while getting it on together. Romeo should be smart enough to see that. But that’s Romeo’s one blind spot, of course, same as any man. When it comes to the love of his life..... silly fool, that Romeo.

 

Worst of all, he still felt deeply indebted for his rescue, painfully aware (physically and mentally) that officially I still owned part of him. As much as he might have wanted the favor, how could he possibly ask me for _more_?

I had told him, even as I cut the leather strips, that he owed me nothing. His prize assets were his to keep, _gratis_. But it’s clear that even to this day, some six months later, he still feels there is a burden of debt about the ownership of the valuable cargo dangling between his legs. We keep that ongoing debate private, for it is one he will never win. And he’s had enough public humiliation for one lifetime already.

Sometimes, when I’m feeling especially brave and teasingly playful, I will jokingly inquire what he’s doing with my expensive purchase these days. And he usually retorts with a good-natured threat to give me a (very) intimate personal demonstration if I don’t shut up about that already. But I never try that within earshot of Julian. My ribs still ache from his bruising bear-hug, so no way to I want to risk being flattened by a jealous, over-protective Nord steamroller.

Because as much as Romeo and I are now the best of friends, his heart belongs to Julian.

 

 

 

 

 

END NOTES: (added as part of the chapter, to avoid warning anyone that there are end notes, because these have rather big spoilers, and I know you lot can't wait to read the chapter first before.... well.... anyway, I made certain you didn't skip ahead this way)

So, the secret plot twist is out! I hope it was worth the read.  
And another legend yet to be revealed! Awesome. It's in the next chapter.  
  
Plus, if you want to re-read the story with this new information, you might notice that the dragonborn could be male or female - apart from "I am that sort of guy" which these days is not gender definitive, I only used a "he" in one chapter summary here at AO3, which isn't part of the story, per se.  
But there's no way to let readers know that they can choose their own dragonborn upfront, without giving away this rather pivotal moment of just who Julian actually is....  
I was deliberately trying to make it seem like the dragonborn was Julian, though. I apologize for trying to trick you. I'm just that kind of twisted writer.

 

 

 

 


	14. Forbidden Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So here's what happened in the milking factory...  
> Filling in the missing links, tying up many loose ends, to close out the first half of this story.  
> And a bit more repetition. Sorry again.

### 14\. Forbidden love

In hindsight, it seems obvious that it would take another muscle-bound hunk, secure enough in his own masculinity, to not be scared away by Romeo’s flawless physique. But Julian still had to see past that hideous face, before he could fall in love with the adorable nice guy that lives behind the ugly mug. And he had to do that under the dismal conditions of the milking factory.

Ironically, it was those very conditions that drove the men together so strongly. Romeo’s non-existent production would have seen him starve to death in a week or two, thanks to the jarl’s “pay-for-performance” rules. Had you forgotten about those? Or perhaps you had already been wondering how Romeo had managed to survive for a year.....

 

At the end of his first day in the milking factory, a confused Romeo stared at the virtually empty plate presented to him in the mess hall. “No milk, no food” snarled the guard. It wasn’t Romeo’s fault the tiny tube had not been able to take his size, or suck anything out of him. He had already tried everything he could think of, but there was no way he could deliver anything to the machine.

His stomach growled back in anger. He contemplated the thick iron shackles and heavy chains impeding his wrists and ankles, and the realization dawned that it was now far too late to fight for his future. The fatal fate announced by that barren plate was frighteningly final.

 

Julian had noticed the Orc’s empty plate, too. As the top milkman, he was one of the very few slaves that actually did produce enough to earn a full meal. He had already been in the factory for so long he could not even remember his former life. And he had seen many other less fortunate slaves succumb to the lethal conditions.

Julian is very much a sensitive, people person. He sees the emotional core more clearly than he sees the surface appearance. But watching so many others slowly starve around him had numbed his soul. He had tried sharing his food before, but it was always pointless. There were too many needing help to save them all.

It hurt him so much, that he now just ignored the others, preferring the pain of guilt and remorse for withholding his help, to the pain of watching people he cared about dying on their feet right in front of him. His soul froze over in the icy coldness of denial, as he locked his heart away in virtual walls every bit as thick as the dungeon that imprisoned his body.

Romeo was obviously on the fastest possible track to nowhere. But there was something.... a _special_ something.... about what Julian saw. It was that same something I had seen as I watched the guards lashing Romeo down in the square. A meekness, a sadness, a gentleness, a longing. A.... _Something_. It penetrated the numbness and moved him to feel again, just a little.

The walls around Julian’s heart cracked under the pitiful sight. He could not bear to see anyone so lost and out of their depth, so alone and so condemned. So he sat down next to the frightened, bewildered, hungry newcomer, and offered him half of his own rations.

 

Romeo thus experienced his _first_ kindness since leaving his home here, at the dinner table in this nightmare of a prison. He was startled. But the surprise quickly gave way to feeling deeply touched by the caring generosity of this handsome stranger.

Romeo had just been through a few days of having everyone run away from him, verbally abusing him, assaulting him, and showing him nothing but hatred and contempt, before the abduction and sordid shaming at the machine earlier in the day. And now this Nord had _chosen_ to come and sit beside him, when there were plenty of other empty seats available. And he was offering half of his food, going short himself, to help the helpless Orc.

It was a particularly major instance of the “big deals” that matter so much to Romeo.

 

He slowly started to reach for the food being offered, his hand driven automatically by the gnawing hunger in his stomach. But then he paused, as he considered the implications carefully, his mind regaining control to think things through. He decided he had no choice in the matter.

He reached for the stranger’s hand instead, in the universal gesture intended to capture someone’s attention for an important announcement, and.... faltered. The warm contact was unlike anything he had ever felt before. The sensation was.... something unique.... something... _enchanting_. The feeling magnified when he looked into the stranger’s soft eyes, and he all but forgot what he was about to say. His jaw wobbled up and down a bit. For a split second he dared to dream anew.

But then he forced the words out in a choked-up voice. He expressed his deepest gratitude for the kind and generous offer. Then refused the charitable offering, jumped up, and ran away as fast as his restraints would carry him.

 

He already knew there was no hope. There was no way he could deliver anything at the infernal machine to earn any food. Rather than take them both down in a lingering death by gradual starvation, he chose a quicker death for himself only.

He fled back to his cell, half running, half hopping, half stumbling, half tripping and falling, as fast as his chains would allow. He hoped no-one had seen the tears streaming down his cheeks. He wasn’t a butch, macho, tough guy by any means, despite his immensely masculine physique. But this was the first time he had cried in his life, and the tears were an embarrassing weakness that no Orc should ever show. Especially not to the... _captivating_... stranger he had just abandoned in the mess hall, that had so anxiously watched his emotional retreat.

Julian had felt the electricity of the exquisite touch, too. He didn’t need to see those tears to know that they were there. But Romeo’s refusal had confounded him, and he sat rooted to the bench while Romeo clumsily blundered and barged his distressed way out of the hall. He chewed and choked on the food, in the same way that his mind chewed and choked on the indigestible feelings.

He had dared to break open the barriers protecting his heart of gold. And now it was melting in the blistering heat of Romeo’s loving sacrifice. In those few vulnerable moments, the Orc had sneaked in, and injected a virus that rapidly infected his entire soul. His frozen emotions thawed, conclusively ending the indefinite ice age they had been trapped in. The melting ice found its way to _his_ eyes, too. Amidst the tears, Julian resolved it could not end like this. It _would_ not end like this. Not this time.

 

The next day, Julian demanded double shifts, visiting that dreadful machine every half-hour, trying to earn enough food for them both to survive. He doubled his overall output that way. That evening it was Romeo’s turn to feel the intense love from the compassionate Nord, whose heart he had already stolen, lock, stock, and... ummm... barrel.

He wasn’t even going to sit down, after being handed another empty plate. But Julian caught him unawares, grabbing his wrist chains, and refusing to let go. There was a brief test of strength, but it was no contest, really. Julian might be immensely strong, but even he is no match for Romeo, who was pretty much at his prime buffness at that time.

Romeo bucked and wrenched, flinging and dragging Julian about all over the hall, trying to pry himself free without hurting the stranger harassing him. Julian clung on for dear life. And another of those critically significant moments passed, as his grip held firm. Had Romeo broken free...... once again there would be no story to tell, other than the tragic passing of a well-built Orc whose hardware was incompatible with the milking machine.

 

The stand-off gave Romeo a choice. If he was prepared to harm the Nord, he could toss him aside with ease to break free. Or, he could comply with Julian’s wishes. We know Romeo now, right? So obviously he yielded. He tamely allowed Julian to lead him to a quiet corner, where the Nord boxed him in to make sure he wouldn’t run away a second time.

Romeo capitulated under the siege, as Julian showed him there was enough food for two. His eyes started leaking again when he realized the lengths Julian had gone to, _just for him_. Total submission followed. It was less of an offer and acceptance, and more of a command and obedience. But, Julian offered a gift of life, and Romeo accepted with humble gratitude.

The two men sat down together, and ate silently. They did not need to speak. They already knew everything they needed to know about each other, from the brief exchanges and sacrifices each had already made for the other. That night they both discovered a new meaning to life. It was written in what they saw, as they gazed into each others' eyes. And it was felt in the sensual pleasure as they held hands, touched, and discretely explored each others' bodies.

Driven together by a life-and-death need for survival, their existences now had value only in each other. The more they shared, the closer they became. By the end of the first week, the two men had bonded deeply. Possibly very deeply. Possibly even 12 inches deep, perhaps.....

 

Their love was absolutely forbidden by the shackles and locked cells and strict routine of the milking factory. But they took every opportunity to touch, to hold hands, to stroke and fondle, whether in the queues at the machine, or at the dinner table. Their eyes were always on each other, talking, sharing, saying their silent sweet nothings. Apparently it was quite true that they did indeed steal a kiss whenever the guards were not looking. And sometimes even when they were, unable to resist the desire to taste each other, in spite of the ferocious beating it would earn them.

The manager had not been exaggerating much about the unauthorized romance at all. In fact, it was almost all true. He was probably even right about the excessive water consumption in the showers. Right about everything, _except_ for the reason why Romeo produced nothing at the machine. And even though I had made perhaps the biggest mistake of character judgement of my life, thankfully it made no difference to my desire to intervene on that strange day. No-one deserved the punishment the jarl had decreed, no matter what the “crime”.

Julian kept up his daunting schedule from that day on, and fed them both for the next year. Romeo had nothing to give in return, except his love and gratitude. But that was more than enough reward for Julian, giving him all of the reasons he ever needed to sustain his incredible performance as the insatiable machine sucked him dry every half hour.

Sooner or later, had they not found each other, both men would have given up the will to live. Romeo very much the sooner, starved to death, and Julian following at some point later, when the guilt crushed his soul completely. But together, they found purpose, and even though there was no hope for their circumstances to ever improve, it didn’t deter them. The love they shared, made it worthwhile to endure each and every grueling day for the briefest moments of joy they gave each other.

 

Even Mara had noticed.

Maybe she even put them up to it, making sure they found each other, as she plotted the legend all along. When you stop to consider the infinitesimal chances...... That Julian was the only milking slave with the right sized equipment to match the machine..... That he was the one man compassionate and caring enough to feel sympathy for the ugly brute of a new arrival.... That he was moved to share his food when he had long since stopped doing so..... The vanishingly small probability that all of those perfect details should present themselves at the right time and place, to save Romeo from certain death, never mind fall in love so deeply as to motivate him for the Legend..... I see the hand of a Divine in all that.

I also suspect that my inspired words that finally won the jarl over, were probably not my own, either. I believe that was Talos playing his part, guiding us forth onto the path that I was not even aware of until that first snowball was prepared by the apprehensive medic. Because all that is yet to be revealed, was only made possible by that stupidly idiotic and unnecessary promise to “optimize” the milk production.

 

The forbidden love enabled Romeo to survive. Fed by his compassionate, caring, lover. Kept sane by the pleasant moments they shared, dreaming of utopian futures together to disguise the grim reality of the insufferable daily grind as slaves in the milking factory. A mere glimpse of each other sent their spirits soaring way beyond the walls, giving them both pleasant dreams to fill the many boring hours of intolerable loneliness, waiting in their cells.

Until, finally, it was Romeo’s turn to fight for their ultimate salvation, on that strange day about a year later. With a little masturbating help from his new best friend, of course.

 

Please, do not underestimate how vital Julian is to everything. It was not just his rampant love that carried Romeo through his hour of desperate need on that strange day. He is solely responsible for Romeo surviving long enough for that day to come at all. The legend might showcase Romeo, but it stands squarely and completely on the giant shoulders of Julian.

Sure, Romeo had performed a miracle to craft the legend. But Julian had sucked himself dry 32 times a day, every day, for a whole year, just to give Romeo his one unwanted opportunity to shine. It is hard to say which man has the greater prowess. And even harder to say which legend deserves to be the better known.

 

It mattered not that Julian had been the top producer. Nor that any reduction from that fearsome, punishing, _eye-watering_ schedule would mean he delivered less, not more. I simply told the jarl that he would produce even more at the new facility. And do you know what? He did! Romeo made absolutely certain of that. But not quite in the way you might be thinking...


	15. Phase 1 Interim Conclusion

This is where the second half of the story should take off:  
The Land of Milk and Honey co.

Detailing all of the amazing things that the dragonborn and his two new chums get up to, raising the tide ever higher, and slowly but surely taking the jarl's empire to pieces. More angst, more fluff, more humor. More snowballing and compound interest and whipped cream.

Born out of my frustration that the game wouldn't let me do anything meaningful to improve the suffering I kept on witnessing.

And, I have to say, not quite taking the mickey, but certainly written with a certain tongue in cheek. It has a different feel to the telling of the Legend. As such, it should probably be published separately. But it belongs so completely to this story, that I'd prefer to post it here. Even though it is just as long as the telling of the Legend(s).

Problem is, it was really difficult to bash it into a coherent story. The plotline is now sorted, but the continuity from one chapter to the next is far from seamless. Please bear with me as I try to sort that out.

But I can't leave you all hanging like that. The main story deserves an Interim Conclusion, to wrap up the magical fairytale of Romeo and Julian, before venturing into the _better world for all_ in the Land of Milk and Honey Co...

 

### Interim Conclusion

It is time to reflect on the twists of fate that brought us here. To mention the little tragedies that must accompany the telling of any great legend. It even feels too negative to call them tragedies. Because, at worst, these drawbacks are the little details that simply might have gone better. They are the price we have had to pay for the story you have just read.

To start with, I’d like to point out the positive irony that none of this glorious tale of Love would have been possible, if the jarl had not enslaved his own people.

If there had been no press gang, Romeo would have trudged on, and still be looking for somewhere to make his mark. He would not have met Julian. And I would still have a mountain of gold, and no way to spend it helping others.

There would have been no Milk and Honey Co estate. And that means no way to dismantle the jarl’s evil regime, and take down his wicked cronies. You might think that simply means no balance to be restored, and we’re still in negative territory because of the misery he has inflicted. But you'd be wrong.

The tragedy of the jarl’s slave camps is no real tragedy at all. The sad loss of the hundreds of slaves they have killed, are reasonably comparable to the civil war losses and dragon deaths in other holds. Yes, the price paid in the lives of the slaves that died, and the pain caused by their incarceration, was high. Very high. But the story of Milk and Honey co (yet to be told) leaves me convinced that we have been able to reduce the pain in the rest of the land by even more. _Much_ more. Overall, we have come out ahead. Without any shadow of a doubt.

Sometimes, you have to let the jarl be an evil bastard, for the greater good. Smart guy, that Romeo. He could see the necessity of that tragedy long before I could.

 

The obvious tragedy of strange day itself, was that Romeo only had me to comfort him after it was all over. I was a very poor substitute. A perfect happy ending would have seen Julian squished against that sticky wet mess of a heaving Orc chest, as the two men shared the emotional moment together in proper fashion. Denying them any physical contact to express their love for each other was an unfair cruelty indeed. They absolutely deserved better. But they take the hit in their usual good grace. And, from the noises I can hear _yet again_ from next door, they’ve more than made up for that one lost moment.

The far more tragic tragedy, is that Julian’s heroic performance that made everything possible, remains completely unknown. He kept up that eye-watering schedule for a whole year, earning enough food for them both to eat, keeping Romeo alive and well until that strange day came for the big Orc to perform the miracle and deliver the ultimate Legend. And the world is _oblivious_ to it.

Perhaps the most sad tragedy of them all, is that Julian’s fundamental role during the making of the Legend itself is also totally unrecognized. The entire hold saw Romeo and me making history together in the middle of the town square. And even though he was right there, intimately involved with every excruciating moment, Julian was completely invisible. Only Romeo and I knew the pivotal role he played, underpinning the whole event, providing the emotional foundation without which Romeo could never have performed the greatest show in Tamriel.

You know me. I hate injustice. And that’s why I’m telling you the full story behind that strange day now. Because, as amazing as it is, the Legend of the Third Coming is completely overshadowed by the story of Romeo and Julian, their incredible love for each other, and the unimaginably positive future for _everyone_ that it has made possible.

And don’t forget to thank Mara and Talos as well, of course. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that they had **everything** to do with **everything**. In fact, Romeo epitomizes everything they stand for so perfectly, I sometimes wonder if he is their secret love child. It would fit the legend, wouldn’t it?


	16. The Land of Milk and Honey Co - Getting it Up and Sucking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long and rambling chapter, that describes the transition from the old milking factory, to the new estate of Milk and Honey Co. 
> 
> It is a world apart. A utopia for the milking slaves, and a chance for them to shine. It is written more as a chronological diary, detailing the first month or two after Strange Day. This particular chapter does tend to jump around a bit, as a wide variety of different things are covered. The story flows from one to the other as best I could make it fit. Comments for improvement are welcome. 
> 
> Personally, I got frustrated that the game itself did not let me "help", anything like as much as I wanted to. This story gave me that chance. Romeo wanted to make a better world for all, and the Talos-worshipping Dragonborn was ready to bankroll that. The sky is the limit. Or maybe not! 
> 
> And so, the Land of Milk and Honey Co was born. Things get more and more ludicrous as these later chapters unfold, so please bear in mind that this "second half" is more cheek and humor, than the dramatic performance of the crafting of the Legend.

### 16\. The Land of Milk and Honey Co

###    
Part A: Getting it Up and Sucking

 

Back at the milking factory, my vision for the new estate was fomenting as Romeo filled in the subtle detail to brew its full potential. But there were some obvious basics to finish first. Like, building the enclosure fence. And, most importantly, we needed our own milking machine.

I was busy scouring Dwemer ruins for parts, and making the blacksmith very wealthy indeed, as he put together the Mark 2 milking machine for Milk and Honey Co, complete with a wide variety of custom attachments to suit all shapes and sizes.

All the while Romeo was looking after production in the old factory, keeping the jarl happy with ample daily deliveries. The army of slaves was still fighting that daily battle with gusto, as Romeo “optimized”, and Julian motivated the troops.

It took a week before the security fence around the estate was completed. With the new machine installed and commissioned, those slaves that had accepted the offer (about 2/3) were transferred to the new facility under armed escort late one night. The gates were locked behind them. And finally the land of Milk and Honey Co could begin.

 

Their shackles were removed. Permanently. One cuff was left around an ankle or a wrist (each slave could choose their preference), purely to mark who had been a slave, but the chains were all taken away. That was one of the promises I had made, and the euphoria that the dream was turning into reality was infectious. That was an added bonus, because going shackle-free was also a mandatory practicality.

We didn’t even have any buildings yet, and I needed these men to put the place together for me. They worked like, well, like slaves to build the rest of the facility. They had to, because the money was running out fast. I couldn’t afford to pay for any more labor - the building materials alone seriously dented my dwindling savings. Romeo budgeted carefully to keep us solvent, but it was clear that there could be no more extravagant purchases.

We lived under the stars, or in tents at first. It was no hardship, really. After the dungeon, the idea of sleeping under open sky was a highly desirable novelty. But it had also never been my intention to have any cells to lock - that was promise number 2.

Being exposed to the elements meant that promise number 3 was an automatic fait accompli. The obligatory nakedness was repealed - the men were allowed to dress themselves in whatever they wished. Clothing choice was limited in the very beginning - mostly because of budget constraints - so function (and warmth) mattered, while fashion statements did not.

But the small dignity of not being chained, and permanently naked, caused all heads to be held high. The slaves had become men again. They were no longer numbers, or objects. They were people, with feelings and needs. And skills.

The men still had to be called “slaves” at the jarl’s insistence, and they were very much still prisoners with no liberties beyond the new facility. But _inside_ the walls, it was a different world.

They had only two job requirements: to milk themselves often enough to satisfy the jarl’s daily quota, and to remain within the estate boundary. The slaves were even trusted to handle the milking machine themselves, on their own schedules. This was Sovngarde compared to the old place, and they were eager to comply. Everyone behaved impeccably, treasuring the _relative_ freedom and luxurious conditions - fresh air, sunshine, space, and ample food. And, no beatings!

 

The men had also chosen which guards to bring with them, picking the ones showing the most reformed attitude since I had been in charge at the old milking factory. But they were almost superfluous, not required to do anything more than secure the gates and keep the peace. Bored with having so little to do, they all chipped in with the building work. The former overlords and bullies stood shoulder to shoulder alongside, and sweated just as much as, their former victims. Many hands make light work, as they say, and Romeo’s inability to bear grudges was rubbing off, as the former slaves welcomed the extra help and befriended their former masters.

Their selection proved wiser than anyone realized. Before dawn one morning, I surprised some of the guards limbering up at the Mark 2. Hugely embarrassed at being caught in such a compromising situation, they sheepishly explained their remorse for the nasty behavior that their previous duties had required of them. They felt like their own souls had been saved by being lifted out of those evil ways. And now they were equally determined to make reparations, and help in any way they could. Including making “anonymous donations” to help out with satisfying the daily quota. The love and kindness had just come around once again, in the most unforeseen way.

 

In my eyes, all of these men were now equal employees. There was no “us” and “them” anymore. They were one team, with the old names distinguishing their former history. “Guard” and “milking slave” were merely job titles for subtle differences in current duties. And even those lines had just blurred, with most guards now regularly volunteering to join the slaves in the queues at the Mark 2.

Everyone followed Romeo’s lead in warmly welcoming their new comrades amongst their ranks. There was no sign of any animosity, nor ridicule, nor scorn of their former “superiors”. Such reconciliation was another unexpected bonus, because it completed the feeling that everyone was part of the same integrated whole. The relaxed atmosphere was a world away from the brooding oppression of the old milking factory.

The men regulated their own milking schedules, but we monitored production via Romeo’s charts. These tended to inspire friendly rivalry, as the men vied to outdo each other. One guard was posted, just to make sure there was no cheating of any kind - we needed those records to be immaculately accurate, to be of any use. We only counted officially until the daily target was reached, so there was a mad morning rush to deliver as much as they could, then relaxing for the rest of the day, using the free time for whatever they wanted.

The new machine worked so well, it had become an erotic pleasure for everyone. Those that knew from experience, reckoned it was even better than the real thing. There was never any danger of missing the jarl’s targets. We were delivering the entire daily quota all by ourselves from the very first day of Mark 2 production, with just 2/3 of the slave complement. That’s how _bad_ the jarl’s constrictive geometry had been. And how badly his dungeon had de-motivated the men.

 

Everyone showed significant “optimization” improvements, without any extra help from me whatsoever. Except for Julian, of course. His production more than halved, exactly as he had feared, as he relaxed his routine. But Romeo was improving from nothing at all, and that opened up certain.... _opportunities_.

Smart guy, that Romeo. His sums always add up perfectly, and he’s never been wrong yet. Well, apart from one silly, recurring error that he can’t seem to fix. Must be something to do with Julian scrambling his brain as the two of them indulge in a little hanky-panky in the office, when they prepare themselves for a milking.

From the very first day, Romeo was prone to filling out his donation chart incorrectly. Now fully healed, plus a custom adapter for the Mark 2, his mega-hardware delivers as much as five average men. But the silly fool accidentally keeps recording it on Julian’s chart. He keeps on making this numbskull mistake until he’s not only topped up Julian’s numbers, but added an additional 20% “optimization” bonus. See, I said he wasn’t helping Julian in the way you thought!

We cook the books as much as we need to, to guarantee that every single man shows a significant gain. We manipulate the numbers to make certain the jarl never has any excuse to interfere. You might be surprised to hear that it was Romeo’s idea to “cheat” like that. But, the jarl does not give us a level playing field, and keeping his meddling nose out of our business is far more important than perfectly honest record keeping. So, we do whatever it takes to make sure he has no reason to challenge us. Sometimes you have to do the slightly misleading things for the greater good.

 

While Romeo’s firm hands guide the company strategy, Julian is very much the people person with the touchy-feely skills. He is an equally vital asset to Milk and Honey Co. Where Romeo looks after the business, Julian looks after the workforce.

Romeo can spot the trends in the production charts, and can tell when someone is slacking off. He doesn’t see _why_ , of course, but we now know that if it’s got that far, it’s probably because the man is enjoying the other distractions of the estate too much, to concentrate on his number one priority.

On the other hand, Julian is always the first to notice when someone is feeling down. This almost always pre-empts any trend even appearing in the charts. He discretely steps in to find out what’s wrong. More often than not, the guy is simply feeling a little impotent as he languishes near the bottom of the performance charts. That’s the one real danger of having that information so freely available to everyone - someone has to come last, and they will appear to be worth “less”. And so they can end up feeling worthless.

Julian is now very well rehearsed in his “everyone contributes different things in different ways” speech. And he does his best to convince the chap that his contributions in the fields or workshops are every bit as valuable as what he delivers at the Mark 2. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. But Julian is a master at making people feel good about themselves. He complements Romeo’s technical skills so perfectly, as they run the business together.

Looking after the business so carefully, forces them to spend a lot of time together. I mean, a _LOT_ of time. So it’s just as well that they can talk business as their pillow talk, as they get frisky in the main office many times a day. But every now and then, their steamy passion seems to overheat. Julian whispers such sultry, sleazy, erotic seductions in Romeo’s ear, that the Orc becomes totally dysfunctional for a day or two. I can’t see any other reason why Romeo is prone to making _even more_ silly mistakes in his donation chart for days afterwards. He even has to drain himself at the machine much more frequently, such is this spellbinding effect Julian has on his libido.

Strangely enough, this usually coincides with the unhappy chappy that Julian’s speech didn’t cheer up, being chuffed to find themselves topping the charts for those few days, too. Go figure..... {whistles innocently while staring at the ceiling}

Everyone knows what’s really going on. Except the jarl - and don’t you dare tell him, either! Romeo feigns total ignorance, instead crediting me with an “optimization session” with the dramatic improver. And who’s going to argue with that mountain of muscle? It just reinforces the fact that the charts are merely a tool for tracking production, providing proof of optimization for the jarl, and in no way a statement of anyone’s worth. Smart guy, that Romeo. Even when Julian turns him into a mindless milking slave.....

 

With milk production _-ahem-_ flowing nicely, the estate took shape around us. The men built everything else themselves in their spare time. First the production hall around the Mark 2. Then a kitchen and mess hall. Then some bedrooms. We had everything the old factory had, within two weeks. The guards were now an integral part of the team, helping in pretty much every way too, don’t forget.

The following week, we were building the _more_ I had dreamed of. They put up workshops, dug fields, fenced some livestock enclosures. Even some storage warehouses and docks, for both supplies coming in, and more significantly, goods going out. And by the week after that, we were producing _more_ than just the daily shipment of milk for the jarl’s wife.

As the infrastructure was completed, so the men shifted their free time to applying their true skills. Or fulfilling their desires. The men could use their time as they wished. That was _another_ promise kept. It had taken a little while to come to fruition, but that was a good thing. The shackle removal, absence of cells, and clothing, had all provided an instant boost, but this delayed fulfillment made it clear that the utopian dreams were continuing, and let everyone know that the _other_ promises I had made had not been forgotten, either.

Some farmed, some fished, some smithed. Some painted, some made music, some studied in the new library, and some wrote. Some cooked, some cleaned. Everyone found a place they could be happy. And everyone had time to stop and smell the flowers. Oh yes, we had a landscape gardener, too!

 

And some made love, of course. _Hey, get a room, you guys! I can hardly hear myself think._ Sorry about that. I can hear them at it _again_. Silly giggles and smooches and....

Seriously, Romeo and Julian get to make out in the main office next door, far more often than seems healthy. I regularly catch them cuddling and canoodling in all sorts of suggestive positions. Sometimes I don’t know where to look.

As is so typical of the stereotype, both of these hulking brutes are true gentle giants. You might expect them to be lumbering, ham-fisted animals, rough and aggressive, as each tries to seize what he wants, dominating and controlling the other with clumsy bestiality to satisfy his lust. They certainly look the part. But these two are anything but forceful. The sight of the two of them sensitively caressing each other in a sensuous make-out session still stops me dead in my tracks every time.

There is something.... disturbing.... _wrong_ , even.... seeing these two musclebound hulks being intimate. And it is more than just their considerate gentleness with each other. There is something surreal about their delicate tenderness that is inconsistent with their bulk. Muscles that massive are not made to be that daintily dextrous. I swear they could tickle each other all night with a dandelion clock, and replant it unscathed in the morning.

OK, I’ll censor the rest. This isn’t a porno movie. Romeo’s public legend is public enough, but their ongoing romance deserves a little privacy. They know me well enough now, to know that I secretly love them expressing their love for each other. I’m a sucker for Tender Loving Care, and there isn’t nearly enough of it going around in the world yet.

Besides, these guys put just as much TLC into the business as they do each other. _They_ make Milk and Honey Co what it is, not me. Dare I say they keep the place well lubricated? They make everything run smoother than silk, more reliably than Dwemer clockwork. They keep everyone happy and content, and they keep the jarl off my back. I have no complaints whatsoever - besides, everyone here is free to use their spare time as they wish to, remember? Nudge-nudge, wink-wink.

 

Back to the story. Where was I? Oh yes, the _more_....

We made everything we needed. Tools, furniture, leather and fabrics, clothing, even pottery. In next to no time the place was entirely self sufficient. And.... _more_.

The medic that had started the first snowball was not forgotten either. We built an infirmary, and planted a herb garden. He was enthralled with the books I acquired for him, to teach himself more about healing and medicine. His small kindness had just snowballed back at him. And it was destined to snowball yet again, too...

The tailor started taking requests, and the men were allowed to make their personal fashion statements at last. Not really another promise being fulfilled, just an extension of the previous one. But personal expression extended beyond that, too. Bedrooms were decorated according to individual tastes. Custom furniture was made to request. It took a little while, but slowly and surely every man felt like their own room was truly _theirs_.

It hardly seems like utopia. But compare all this to being shackled, naked, locked in solitary confinement in a dingy, damp, cramped cell, while slowly starving to death in the old milking factory. Paradises are all relative.

 

The warehouses were soon filling with surpluses, too. Romeo had plans for that. We just needed an opening to negotiate with the jarl...

 

By the end of the month, it was obvious the jarl had no need to keep running the old factory. It was totally redundant. Milk and Honey Co was delivering all the milk his wife could ever need, regularly providing her with 20% extra, so why should he pay to feed his remaining slaves and retain the sadistic guards we had left behind in the old dungeon? Thankfully, Romeo had already sussed the likelihood of this event. His foresight gave us two weeks to prepare and rehearse for the inevitable summoning.

While I grovelled at his feet, the jarl declared he had summarily closed the superfluous place with immediate effect. And demanded I accept all of the remaining inmates and staff into the estate.

So of course, I protested most vociferously and indignantly at the imposition.

Secretly, I was _overjoyed_ that the slaves I had left behind were coming to join us so quickly, and I had no intention whatsoever of rejecting them. The loud vocal objections were mere window dressing - deliberately designed purely to leverage further concessions from the jarl. Because he had handed us the opening we had been looking for.

He umm’ed and ah’ed, but when I sweetened the deal by offering to open the infirmary to all hold citizens for free medical treatment, he relented. I came away with _all_ of the trading permits Romeo had wanted.

 

Smart guy, that Romeo. He didn’t just adopt my plans. He took my vision much further than I had ever imagined. As our skilled slaves got better and better at crafting their special wares, they had to go somewhere. We didn’t have infinite warehouses to store the goods, and they were already bulging at the seams. We could now sell those goods, to pay for more raw materials, new equipment, new buildings, and.... whatever else we needed. And just as well, for the gold was almost all gone now. I had so little of my original fortune remaining, I could count the lot in less than a minute.

The “free” labor gave us a huge cost advantage. But we didn’t upset the local economy by competing with the established producers and traders. Instead, we sold directly to those manufacturers we should have competed against, letting them buy as much of our stock as they wanted at very favorable rates. They got to boost their production, passing on an increased supply of goods to their retailers, and we made some gold.

We kept tabs on what they sold the stuff for, and had a quiet word if we felt they were taking too much advantage. Fair is fair, and we were not in business to make big profits, but to allow _everyone_ to reap rewards from our unique advantages, including the end consumer. We preferred them to lower their selling prices to pass on the benefit, than charge them more for our goods. It was just part of that _better world for everyone_ that Romeo had dreamed of.

We did similar deals in the neighboring holds, too. Our warehouses became so busy receiving raw materials and sending out finished goods, that Romeo had to train some of the guards in stock-taking and book-keeping and shipping logistics to keep track of it all.

 

By far the majority of our goods were exported to Morrowind. Does that sound familiar? _It should!_ It was the very idea that had been used to incarcerate Romeo in the first place. And now here he was, _making it happen_ , right under the jarl’s nose! Oh, the sweet irony. Our economic empire began growing steadily, quickly becoming the envy of all, and fueling the rising tide ever higher.

But our number one priority remained making certain that the trivial daily milk run to the jarl’s wife was taken care of.

 

The business influenced Skyrim in another way, too. Remember those sadistic bullies of guards we had left behind in the old milking factory? I had the thorny problem of employing them, but I really did not want them contaminating the peace and happiness of the estate. How do you occupy people that enjoy inflicting pain and suffering on others? You give them an appropriate target, of course.

That was how the first subsidiary of Milk and Honey Co - the “Bandit Suppression Squad” - came about. I probably don’t even need to explain their job, do I? But in addition to cleaning out any bandit camps that spring up, they also escort our wagons on their more dangerous trips. They do need a short leash, but so far they have behaved themselves, and not harmed anyone that didn’t deserve it. The bounties they earn are useful income, and it gives me more time to deal with more important matters, too. The only concern is what to do when there are no more bandits for them to deal with. Fortunately Skyrim is a big place, and we only have the Companions for competition, so that day remains distant.

 

Meanwhile, the medic was kept busy using his increasing skills to heal the various aches and pains, sneezes and diseases, bumps and bruises, and broken bones, that came knocking at his door. Our kindness to him was now snowballing across the town, across the villages, and across the entire hold, as the sick and injured came to visit us for that free healthcare.

 

The land of Milk and Honey Co had just broken out into the wide world, showing contemptuous disregard for the enclosure fence, even as the slaves remained confined within.

We were touching real lives, reaching far beyond our physical boundaries. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined my simple intervention to help an Orc would have such repercussions. Romeo had shown me the sky was the limit of what we could do together.

Or maybe, the sky wasn’t the limit after all....

 

I surveyed the scene with great pride, and was once again expecting my journey to end there. We had already come so much further than anyone could have foreseen when I intervened on that strange day. Life for the milking slaves had improved beyond all recognition, and I was in business with a loyal friend and his devoted lover.

They were making sure the venture was succeeding, and keeping the jarl happy. And that meant the tide could continue to rise. Which in turn meant that the love and kindness could keep on coming around with interest. I was wrong once again. Our journey was _far_ from over.

 

It was much more difficult absorbing the 50% increase in slave numbers as the damaged souls joined us from the old milking factory. Those that had merely been afraid of change or “optimization” quickly adapted, but those that were so deeply traumatized by their brutal institutionalization, had to be treated in the manner to which they were accustomed. They had to keep their shackles and chains. They had to keep the hourly routine, and they had to be serviced by a guard at the machine. Many men gave up their bedrooms so that we had cells to lock them in, even as we began building a new bedroom wing for the displaced donors, that were once again savoring the luxury of sleeping under the stars.

Julian spent many long hours personally counseling these broken men. And we tasked the gentlest of the nicest guards to deliver token displays of the old sadism - just enough to keep the slaves content - as they were eased away from their damaged psyches. As they began the slow journey back to normality, there was the inkling of another new snowball forming. But it wasn’t ready to roll just yet. That catalyst came much, _much_ later.

There was a whole new crisis to deal with first. One that brought the fledgling company to its very knees, struggling for survival, as the entire hold was threatened with catastrophe. And it began with yet another tiny snowball of kindness coming around with interest.


	17. The Land of Milk and Honey Co - Milk Shortage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the milking slaves feel uncomfortable - perhaps guilty that life on the estate is so good, when the other slaves camps are as awful as ever. The farmers take a brave step, volunteering to help out the slave farms struggling under the jarl's brutal regime. 
> 
> Romeo and the Dragonborn make an offer to the jarl. He accepts, handing them a far bigger responsibility than they anticipated. 
> 
> They discover the farms are in ruins, the hold is on the verge of widespread famine, and there's no easy or certain way to avert the hunger crisis that could decimate the entire hold. 
> 
> It was touch-and-go for a while, requiring everybody to pull together and help out. But between the Legend, and Romeo's compound interest, the snowballing kindness saves the day. And sets up Milk and Honey Co to be a vastly bigger mission than ever thought possible.

### The Land of Milk and Honey Co

###    
Part B: Milk Shortage

 

We had five or six farmers, depending on how you count the gardener, and not counting the guards that were learning a new vocation. But they were finding our few fields far too easy to maintain. They had so much spare time on their hands, they were uneasy. Because, they knew about the slave farms they were originally destined for. And we had all heard the recent rumors that those farms were in deep, deep trouble, and suffering greatly. The manpower shortage in the hold had not gone away in the meantime. If anything, it had intensified.

They all felt a burden. Guilt, perhaps, that they had done nothing to deserve the relatively pleasant conditions of life at the estate. Feeling a need to repay the kindness debt, they made an astonishingly brave joint decision. They approached me en mass one day, volunteering to help the slave farms somehow, even as they dreaded the implicit death penalty of a transfer. They had agreed amongst themselves to draw lots to see who should go, and who should stay at the estate. They wanted me to officiate the lottery.

 

I refused point blank. No way was I going to permit any such transfer. As noble as their sacrificial offer was, it was _unthinkable_ that anyone should receive a death sentence as reward for wanting to help. But the snowball was primed, and we had a long discussion about how to let them contribute to ease their consciences, while protecting them from any undesirable consequences. Romeo came up with the ideal, simple solution that satisfied everyone, even adding the “ _more_ ” that I’d come to expect. The very next morning I was kowtowing in front of the jarl with a new proposal.

 

“My Lord, the milking is now so well optimized, that I can spare you some extra manpower. I wonder if you would be so kind as to allow me to send out chain gangs to assist your more disappointing farms with their inadequate production?”

He took the bait. He had noticed his own dining table was not quite as bountiful as it had been, and was quite happy to accept more free help from me.

I was quite happy to apply more free pressure, and squeeze him a little, tentatively flexing my iron fist within the velvet glove for the first time. Testing how high the tide had risen, if you like. And I was totally caught out by how deep the water already was...

“Thank you for allowing me this opportunity to support you. But I’m sure you can appreciate my concern that these slaves should be used as efficiently as possible. I wonder if you would be so kind as to let me take charge of the farms that we assist, that the facilities themselves might be fully optimized too?”

I don’t normally kiss butt like that. Especially the septic butt of that jarl. But Romeo had seen the chance that we could use the farmers’ offer, as a way to wrangle control of a few farms, hopefully relieving them from the arduous conditions imposed by the jarl. If we could do the same for them, that we had done for the milking factory... That was our _hope_ , anyway.

Romeo was guesstimating that we would get two or three farms to manage. But my reputation was already more respected that we had anticipated. I had done _such_ a good job with the milk production, restoring a reliable quota and taking all of the milking factory costs off his hands, that the jarl was intensely keen I should do the same for his entire food supply. He instantly transferred supervision of _all 23_ of his slave farms to Milk and Honey Co. Yes, that’s twenty-three, not two or three.

That was far more responsibility than we had bargained for. But Romeo was on the case, and as word got back of just how much we had bitten off, he was already chewing with those mammoth tusks. Julian was taking care of the people as usual, raiding the warehouses to fill countless wagons with food and clothing and furs and firewood. They were rolling out of the gates with metronomic regularity for the rest of the day, to give the impoverished farm slaves a decent meal, and keep them warm that night. Meanwhile, I dashed around from farm to farm, trying to get an idea of just what we were in for.

 

_Oh._

_My._

_Talos._

 

I did not recognize the farms to be farms. The motionless scarecrows in the fields of weeds turned out to be the farm slaves, so thin and weak they were barely able to stand, never mind hold a pitchfork.

The labor had been spread too thin. The slaves had been crushed by the workload. They had reached the point of too little reward for too much work, and they had simply given up bothering months ago, when the seasonal demands had overwhelmed them all. They made token gestures of performing their duties to mitigate the beatings from the guards, as they waited for death to take them away. Most were now just emaciated skeletons, mere days away from dying. Some thought that moment had actually come - that they had died and gone to Sovngarde - when Julian’s supply wagons rolled in to save them.

 

The situation was dire. _Far, far worse_ than the rumors had suggested. Half of the fields were fallow, with nothing planted, never mind ready for harvest, and a huge amount of work was needed to get them fertile and productive again. The other half were choked with weeds so prolific you had to look three times to spot the ailing crops.

The hold had been consuming its last reserves from storage for some time, and there was nothing left anywhere. Any granary not actually empty, was only days away from depletion. Our own modest fields stood no chance of filling the void. Famine was upon us, and mass starvation loomed. Because, it was not just the farm slaves being starved by the jarl’s “pay for production” rules.

Everyone in the hold that ate the food supplied by those farms was about to go hungry, too. That included all of the slaves at the other facilities, and the vast majority of the townsfolk. Only a few of the more isolated rural villages and homesteads had their own food sources.

How could this horrific state of affairs have come about? Simple. The jarl kept control by regulating the food supply to his people. He simply didn’t allow private farming, because that could usurp his stranglehold on power. And now that paranoid ego was about to bite us all viciously hard in the stomach.

The scale of the responsibility was chilling. We had many hundreds, possibly thousands of people now relying on us to find them food to eat, and the larder was bare. Even the rats had abandoned the empty storerooms.

 

The situation had been kept totally secret by the farm managers, fearing the jarl’s retribution for letting him down. They had pleaded for more slaves, and more resources, but didn’t receive anything. The hold had run out of people to abduct. As the weaker slaves died off, they were not being replenished with fresh meat for the grinder. They dared not tell the jarl that his workforce policies had failed, even as they planned their own furtive escapes to the furthest remote corners of Skyrim, when the secret could be kept no longer. Risky survival as a fugitive was still preferable to the certain doom they could expect as the jarl demonstrated his displeasure with _their_ incompetence at failing to keep the farms productive.

None of that mattered now. Assigning blame would not feed any hungry mouths. We were in a very deep hole, and finding a way out was the only thing that mattered.

 

Romeo spent the whole night calculating and recalculating, furiously juggling numbers, and coming up well short every time. But he’s a smart guy, remember. And has a proven track record of succeeding against the odds, when everything dictates he must surely fail. Particularly when he’s got Julian standing by his side, rooting for him. The Nord could do little more than provide a shoulder massage this time, but he was there all night, providing staunch moral support and hot drinks nevertheless.

At the crack of dawn the next morning, tired, weary, and exhausted, Romeo shared the best longshot he had come up with. He had a gut feeling that we could get through the crisis somehow, even as the numbers insisted otherwise. I had every faith that if anyone could find a way to prevail, it was Romeo.

 

We didn’t just send the farmers in one chain gang that next day. We sent _everybody_. Each farmer supervised a team, targeting the most salvageable farms first. The guards sent along as the token security once again sweated and toiled side by side with the prisoners they were allegedly securing. When the farm guards realized what was happening, finally grasping that the food they were eating was not coming from anywhere other than the dismal fields they stared at every day, they too began to pitch in. The weak farm slaves merely directed and managed, most of them too fragile to stand for more than five minutes. Even so, they were desperate to assist the rescue mission regardless, and helped out in whatever ways they could.

There was no risk of anyone escaping, even though there was no stopping any determined bids for freedom. Because the kindness debt they all owed to Romeo and me, kept them all bound to honor their duties, and fight for the greater good above and beyond their own interests. I had kept my early promises to them. And they patiently endured, as they waited for me to honor the others. They all did their bit, slaving away at whatever tasks asked of them, realizing that survival of the hold was a far greater thing than their own personal freedom. If any one person broke ranks and fled, it would spoil everything for everyone else. Perhaps it helped that none of these slaves were actual criminals. They were all decent, honest citizens, whose only crime had been to fall victim to the press gang. As tempted as they might have been to run away, everyone stayed loyal to the greater cause. Because they all knew that sometimes you have to be selfless for the greater good.

 

The medic ran from farm to farm, armed with a plethora of tonics and potions and salves from the infirmary. He often left his escorting guard (aka nurse) in the dust, as he sprinted about the hold. He did not stop until he had visited all 23 farms, and treated every last slave. He did not sleep until that task was complete, some three days later. Today, quite a few slaves owe their lives to his solo efforts.

It really just goes to prove what can be done when you keep people happy, letting them get on with doing what they do best, empowering them with whatever tools they need to do their jobs. We really wish the jarl would learn that. But we’ll settle for him staying out of our way, while he lets us get on with making his hold a better place to live.

 

Meanwhile, back at the estate... Milk and Honey Co had enough “stock” on hand to meet the milk quota for that day. But with so many men away, we were sunk for day 2. Romeo sent a couple of guards to quietly spread rumors around the town and neighboring villages. When told of our mercy mission, and the critical shortage that would cause us, a slow but steady trickle of volunteers turned up discretely at the side gate, to provide anonymous donations.

These were the same people that had vilified and pilloried Romeo on the morning of strange day. They had come to ease their guilty consciences for their atrocious behavior, and make reparations just as the guards had done. Romeo’s legendary performance had won serious respect, it seemed, for there was no other reason for them to feel any need to help us. They kept coming (and cumming) all day, and took care of us just as much as we were trying to take care of their food supply. The kindness was snowballing once again.

They came back the next day too, and the day after that. Which meant we could keep on sending out the chain gangs to help them in return. They kept coming (and cumming) for as long as we needed them. No doubt encouraged by the sensual erotic pleasures of the Mark 2, making the experience some of the best “sex” they had had in their lives... I doubt they would have been so keen if we only had the jarl’s original torture device to offer them.

 

But it was going to be too little, too late, as far as the food supply went. The chain gangs made a huge difference in just a few weeks, but it would take time for the crops to grow and ripen, and Milk and Honey Co did not have the reserves to fill the gap for the duration. This was the bottleneck that Romeo could not see a certain way past. But he foresaw enough issues, and covered enough angles, that we had a fighting chance.

 

It was clear from his initial sums that the food shortfall was hopelessly large. Every ear of grain mattered. The first tactic was severe food rationing. Those that could go hungry, did, to give more food to those that needed it most. Romeo eked every last kernel to its maximum potential. Never before has the word “optimize” been such a perfect descriptor as for what Romeo achieved over those weeks of critical need.

 

Hours before the first chain gang set off, I was already on my way to the neighboring holds to buy up whatever spare produce I could find. The deliveries were sent on schedule to the appropriate farms, to create the illusion they were productive. Because even as Romeo fought to feed everyone enough to keep them alive, we remained obliged to demonstrate some optimization results to the jarl, and keep delivering his goods like he expected.

I could probably have dealt with the jarl complaining, if I had had to. Actually, I would have skewered him if he had given me any trouble, such was my anger over the heartless way he had mistreated his people. But Romeo took care of everything so well, I didn’t have to. Just as well, for I was rarely in the hold for the next few weeks.

Romeo had warned me to negotiate hard on prices, spending as little as possible, and getting the biggest bushel for every septim. Because while our gold had been growing slowly again, it was nothing like the fortune I once had, and it was not going to be nearly enough to buy our way through this crisis. We would be bankrupt long before the fields were ready for harvest again.

His foresight paved the way for our victory. And his legendary performance did too. Many total strangers were strangely keen to assist when they heard that the Orc with the _-ahem-_ orgasmic phallus needed their help. Thank Talos such stories spread fast.

I was offered discounted prices. I was offered donations of surplus goods for the cost of shipping. I found myself pulling strings with friends, and asking for favors from anyone and everyone I had helped in the past. I found myself accepting lines of credit, and even taking out loans at favorable interest rates. _Whatever_ help was offered, I accepted graciously. We needed _all_ of it.

And many of these generous offers were being made solely because of the legend that preceded me. Never before had I been so grateful that my little kindness to Romeo would come snowballing back to us like this.

Time and time again, I heard the same unlikely introduction, when I told these strangers who I was, and what help I needed. "You're the guy that risked all to save some anonymous Orc from castration? And got him to spray the sky so spectacularly? I wish I had been there to see it... Please, tell me more... I'll get my workers to load up the wagons while we chat..."

The little assists everyone gave me were almost trivial by themselves, but put together they formed an _avalanche_ of aid. Like I keep saying, when Romeo is involved, what goes around comes around with compound interest. This time there really were cherries on top. And some whipped cream, just for good measure.

 

But even all of those favors were not nearly enough. They got us through the first week or three. But, there was a finite limit to how many people we could borrow from, and how much they could lend us. We could only take on so much debt, before our benefactors would start to get nervous about how much we owed. Romeo had just one more ace up his calculating sleeve.

On day 2, he retained a few men at the estate, reducing the chain gang strength a little. A few more days to repair the farms with smaller work groups was an acceptable compromise, for maintaining production of our most lucrative exports. The goods those few men made in our workshops, brought in just enough cash over the next few weeks to carry us through by the skin of our teeth*.  
(*And no, the enormous size of Romeo’s tusks do **_not_ ** undermine that expression.)

We were literally living hand to mouth, day by day, as we waited for the farms to regenerate. The farm slaves recovered well, too, and were able to resume caring for most of their own fields. Our farmers continued to help them, of course. Their chain gangs easily covered any shortfall in manpower to maintain the farms, once the hard work of restoration was complete.

All we needed now was time for the new crops to mature. And the resumed economy of Milk and Honey Co paid for what we needed in the meantime. Our kindness to the milking slaves, lifting them out of the hell hole of the factory, and giving them the paradise of the estate, meant they worked like, well, like slaves again, as they fought to keep their new home solvent and alive. The kindness keeps on coming around when we need it most.

 

I still cannot believe, looking back, that Romeo not only managed to feed everyone, but that he even managed to satisfy all of the jarl’s expectations in the midst of that crisis. Not once was I summoned to explain a missed delivery, or a failure of optimization. He planned the outgoing deliveries to nail the perfect result, even though the incoming shipments from holds near and far came in fits and starts.

Every farm was _seen_ to deliver the goods expected, in the quantities expected, at the time expected, regardless of where and when it had come from. Most of it was bought in, of course, but the jarl didn’t need to know that, nor did he care. His table was groaning under the weight, awash with plenty once more. The hold citizens remained fed, and the farms (and especially their slaves) were fit and healthy again.

While I bandied the word around in front of the jarl time and again, Romeo truly understood the meaning of the word “optimize”. We had survived. He had pulled off another miracle.

It had been a frighteningly close call. Perhaps not quite as close as Romeo came to losing his nuts, but this had been the difference between life and death for a great many people. I do not even want to _think_ about how critically important it had been for those farmers to pick the day they did to volunteer their help. As I said at the very beginning, this whole story is filled with impossibly unlikely coincidences that add up to a vanishingly small probability of outcome. Avoiding mass starvation, and restoring the food supply, is perhaps the most vanishingly small choke-point of them all.

 

When I had first met Romeo, I had been wondering how I could spend the fortune piling up in my pocket. Now, he had not just helped me to spend the lot, but taken me seriously into massive debt as well. But by Talos it was worth every septim. I heaved a huge sigh of relief as things returned to normal, and the steady sales of goods from Milk and Honey Co kept our red finances under control, as we continued buying enough food to carry everyone through, until the farms produced their next harvests.

We came out of that crisis, now looking after a large chunk of the jarl’s correctional facilities. It meant that not only were we able to improve the lives of the farm slaves, but reinforce our grip on the jarl. Because _we_ were now in charge of _his_ food supply, instantly reversing the control. I hadn’t planned so far ahead as to see _how_ the rising tide was going to ultimately drown the jarl. But Romeo’s insight had now shown us the way forward.

I had already dismissed the military option before Romeo’s intervention. And now we could discard the diplomatic negotiation too. We would drown him with our economic power, luring him into our honey traps, using his own greed against him. And we didn’t have to wait long for the next tidal surge.

 

In fact, we barely had time to catch our breath. Just four weeks after we had been given control of the farms, I was summoned once more by the jarl. He was thrilled with our results at the farms. So much so, that now _he_ was asking _me_ to do the same for his mines! And the next week, it was his sawmills. And then his fisheries. And a week after that, he wanted to put every single one of his correctional facilities under the direct administration of Milk and Honey Co.

I accepted them all, but with Romeo’s wisdom guiding me, I negotiated a very different production guarantee from the usual optimization. This time, Milk and Honey Co could take 25% of whatever was produced for itself. So there was still incentive for me to “optimize”, but no _promise_ that _anything_ would actually be delivered. Unlike the food shortage that would have had fatal consequences if we did not deliver, the jarl could manage with less iron and lumber for a while, if he had to.

You might be surprised to hear that the jarl almost bit my hand off in his eagerness to agree. But that’s because I had _also_ offered to take over all of the maintenance costs, and pay the guards, and feed the slaves myself. He would not have to pay a penny to run any of his slave camps from that moment on. I had seen his greedy mind at work when I paid him for Romeo’s testicles. I knew he could not refuse such a bargain. Receiving 75% of what he used to get, for zero outlay, was simply too great a temptation for him to snub.

I asked for his patience, to bear with “me” as “I” found “my” feet managing the greatly enlarged organization (meaning Romeo, of course, but don’t tell the jarl that!). We were still not quite there with the 23 farms, never mind the extra 40 or so facilities he wanted to place in my hands. There might be some hiccups for the first few weeks, but I implied (without guaranteeing) that I would deliver at least 75% of the present quantities in 4 weeks time.

 

As usual, Romeo’s sums worked out beautifully. Milk and Honey Co now had ample free sources of all of the raw materials we would ever need, and our expenses for receiving them were offset by the fact that the former guards at all of the facilities could be redeployed, just as the milking factory guards had become warehousemen, and builders, and wagon drivers, and whatever jobs they fancied having a go at. History repeated itself, as most guards had only signed up to avoid the press gang, and detested the jarl’s soul-destroying job requirements. The vast majority proved more than willing to help out wherever necessary. The rest were gradually transferred to the Bandit Suppression Squad, and wagon escort duties.

As we supplied ample food, warmth, shelter and clothing to all of the slaves, and relaxed the brutal conditions they had been subjected to, our kindness was rewarded by them making the effort to work hard, delivering whatever they could. Julian’s visits to make sure they were properly looked after and cared for, and share the company vision of what we were aiming for, helped their morale immensely. Production optimized itself within two weeks, and the jarl pretty much got _everything_ he used to get anyway, even after we took our 25% off the top.

And the _only_ reason those slaves were motivated to deliver 133% (ie 4/3) of what they used to, was to thank us for removing the hunger, the beatings, and the inescapable death sentence. Of course, some of the old guards chipping in to help with the work did no harm either!

 

Romeo almost buckled under the additional workload of managing it all, but he reveled in the challenge of getting everything running smoothly. Julian reveled too, clucking away like a mother hen, joining the chain gangs to visit all of our new facilities, and attending to the needs of our new colleagues. The medic went with him, reveling just as much in the difference he was making to the health of so many malnourished and sick people.

And I reveled in the jarl giving away the keys to his empire. I was never going to give them back. He did not even realize the foolishness of his greed. The tide was in full flood now, and he had just handed me his life preserver.

Hoist by his own petard, he had virtually thrown his crown jewels at me because he could not see where the wealth really comes from. Unlike Romeo, whose financial genius had guided Milk and Honey Co into an economic powerhouse unrivaled in the hold, if not all of Skyrim.

From where we are now, the jarl simply cannot afford to backtrack on any of those concessions. If he dares to assert himself or his wrath on me, I can cripple him in an instant. I still let him pretend that he is in charge, making the decisions, and he lets me (well, Romeo, that is) get on with making his hold a better place to live. But my days of bowing and scraping before him are over.

It is ironic that the jarl’s empire should benefit so much from the one man he sought to hurt and maim so cruelly. But Romeo didn’t do any of this for the jarl. He did it because _he wants to build a better world for everyone else_.

It matters not how badly anyone has treated him in the past. He just wants others to feel the love and kindness. Even the jarl is a victim of Romeo’s love. Because no matter how evil the fate the jarl had intended for Romeo, the worst revenge he has to fear is a tender kiss on the cheek...

 

It is with enormous pride that I can report not one single slave has died since Milk and Honey Co took over the slave camp administration six months ago. I don’t think anyone got much sleep for those first few weeks when we were desperately trying to cope with the increased responsibility of the farms. But by Talos it was worth it. And all credit is due to Romeo, who worked it all out, and found a way to succeed, so direct your thanks and congratulations to him. He’s a genius, you know.

 

It was mind-boggling to see how big a leap we made in so short a time. And all because of the few farmers that tentatively risked sacrificing themselves to live under the ghastly conditions of a slave farm, to repay the kindness that had lifted them out of the nightmare of the milking factory.

We had never envisioned the company gaining such power and responsibility. What had started as a simple intervention to save Romeo, turned into helping some milking slaves, and is now taking care of most of the hold citizens, slaves or otherwise. And there is yet _more_ to come... It was now obvious that our imaginations were not big enough to see what the mission could grow into.

What goes around comes around. But somehow when Romeo is involved, it comes around with compound interest. And cherries on top. And whipped cream for good measure. Julian adds some sweet rolls... when appropriate.


	18. The Land of Milk and Honey Co - Full Cream Milk aka Show me the Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter details how the estate miraculously survived the economic tribulations of the food crisis, and went on to generate vast sums of money. Perhaps in too much detail. 
> 
> However, this is the foundation for the downfall of the jarl and his cronies. So it's important to show how Milk and Honey Co gained the economic power to do just that. 
> 
> Originally, this chapter was just a few paragraphs, of the Chapter so bad, I wanted to cut it out completely. Instead, it has turned into the biggest monster yet. Snowballing strikes again, lol.  
> I'm not that proud of it. It's rough in places. And it's taken too long already. I apologize for the wait, but it feels good enough to go at last. I just hope it isn't too lengthy, or boring.

### The Land of Milk and Honey Co

###    
Part C: Full Cream Milk aka Show me the Honey

Those first few months had been a baptism of fire. There was never really time to stop and think and plan - we just acted and reacted to needs and crises. Perhaps not quite bordering on panic, but certainly never coming close to calm, considered action, either.

It felt like we had grabbed some unknown beast by the horns, and were dragged all over the place as we clung on for dear life. Obviously, we survived, since I am here today to tell the tale. But there were times when, well, I wasn’t so sure we’d make it.

Perhaps the deciding factor, thankfully, was that there were no more crises or sudden shocks to cope with. Our tenacious efforts gradually brought the beast under some sort of control. And as we tamed it, only then did it become apparent just what a magnificently powerful beast we had harnessed. I mean, it would probably have been far easier to ride a dragon or three...

There was still a lot going on, keeping us very busy, with little chance to take it easy. But it was a different kind of busy. A productive, _organized_ , busy, instead of a headless chicken busy.

 

Romeo had his hands full, wrestling to optimize production of the estate and slave camps, and keeping the jarl satisfied with the results. But he’s a smart guy, and it didn’t take him long to nurture the conglomerate mess of a haphazard contraption into an efficient machine of a corporation that started to run itself.

Julian wrestled with sorting out the workforce - looking after the slaves, redeploying the guards into administrative and logistics roles to help Romeo manage the slave camps remotely, and taking care of those damaged souls we inherited from the old milking factory. His unshakable faith in Romeo drove him to keep on cheer-leading with gusto through the dark and troubled times. He doggedly fought to raise everyone’s spirits. But keeping them high was a much easier task.

Initially, I had to do anything and everything that required off-site attention on my own. Dealing with the jarl, visiting the other holds to find the supplies desperately needed to fill the food shortage, and then negotiating supplier trades, and sales of our products. I didn’t even have time to fight dragons. But it was my time that was freed up the most, as the company found its feet, and stabilized.

The vast majority of my trading tasks were delegated to a growing army of “Sales Reps” - those guards capable and willing to travel and represent the company on my behalf. Julian’s invaluable help found the right volunteers to step forward for the various jobs. But when potential trading partners began calling at the estate from far and wide, drawn by our growing company reputation to seek their own lucrative deals with us directly, things became easier still.

The only duty that remained solely mine, was dealing with the jarl. But even he didn’t bother us much anymore. He was far too pre-occupied, enjoying his blissful abundance of free plenty. Thanks to Romeo’s “optimization” of the slave camps, he was receiving more of everything than ever before, and it wasn’t costing him a septim. My daily summoning of the early days was long forgotten.

 

So it was around this time, towards the end of the third month of operations, that things really started changing.

The pressure eased. We caught our breath. The urgency dissipated. Things slotted neatly into place. The gears meshed smoothly, instead of grinding and grating along.

We had time to think ahead, time to plan carefully, time to discuss our next move. Time to orchestrate the next surge of the rising tide...

The resurgent powerhouse of Milk and Honey Co, armed with the cumulative output of all of the jarl’s facilities working efficiently again, could seek and choose its next challenging horizons, instead of having them forced upon us.

The audacious project could start paying dividends. The company could begin living up to its name, at last delivering some honey as well as milk. Two types of honey, actually. There was a certain sweetness in the things we manufactured. And an even more delicious taste in the Skyrim-changing effects that snowballed from what we did, that made _everything_ worthwhile.

 

There was just one nasty detail that stymied our progress - the financial burden of the food crisis. I merely glossed over that previously, because the threat of starvation was already cause for enough alarm. But the crippling debts we incurred, supplying the hold with enough food for all, were plenty big enough to sink us.

So, before I can properly share just what Milk and Honey Co got up to over the next three months, I need to explain the “economic miracle” of the estate. There was one specific, critically significant, “secret ingredient”. Without it, our mission would surely have ended in bankruptcy and famine.

Those company finances made for some _terrifying_ reading. All the more so, for being the one thing that rendered all of my dragonborn skills totally useless. I could stab and lacerate the accounts book with my sword, but my foe would remain unharmed. I could shout at my creditors, but the debts would not budge. I had never felt so helpless before. Well, apart from one particularly embarrassing hug in the town square on strange day. But this was different. This was ethereal, bureaucratic accountancy, and not something I could engage in any sort of physical fight.

 

At one gruesome point, I owed far more than I had ever owned. All of the borrowings went into the company coffers, but most of the gold was accrued as personal loans to me, as favors and reputation and Legend persuaded people to be generous and giving and trusting. I had smiled and promised and thanked them all graciously, despite feeling eye-wateringly uncomfortable about how they could ever be repaid. Sometimes I felt like I was stealing from them, for I could not see how their gifts could ever be returned.

There was nothing more substantial to go on, than Romeo’s gut-instinct the morning after the full magnitude of the food crisis dawned. That was not nearly enough to quell my mounting anxiety over the next few weeks, as I borrowed as much as I could lay my hands on. There were many days I was convinced it was “when”, and not “if” we went under.

 

From my point of view, there was no “touch and go” about it. I felt we must surely sink under the mountain of debt piling up. I dreaded the disappointment for the people I owed, the extinction event of the famine that would devastate the hold, and the tragic consequences for the slaves who would lose our protection.

I frequently shared my fears and lamentations with Romeo. I think there was more hugging and tears involved. But after those first few weeks, Romeo had a disconcerting confidence about him. He seemed unperturbed about the plunging bottom line, descending ever deeper into the red abyss. He laughed off our critical state, and deteriorating financial situation. He even seemed mildly amused by my distress about the whole affair.

His cautious, hopeful, gut-instinct feeling, grew ever more positively confident. “Trust me,” he assured me. “We’ve got this. All will be well.”

I worried even more he was deluded - that he had lost the plot under the sheer stress of sorting out the extensive empire. You know the old saying: “If you can keep your head, when all about you are losing theirs, you probably haven’t grasped the severity of the situation.” But a few weeks later, once our miraculous survival was assured, I realized he must have already sussed the “secret ingredient” that would save us.

 

My fretful eyes watched that scarily livid bottom line plunging in a nose-dive. The dribble of income from Romeo’s decision to keep those men that made our most lucrative wares at the estate, away from the chain gangs, did not seem to be having much effect. But Romeo showed me the numbers, and the difference they made. In short, that’s why it was “merely” a nose-dive, and not falling vertically down a mine-shaft. Ruefully I thought it was just delaying the inevitable day, when we’d have payments to make, and nothing left to pay them with. But I was wrong (again).

Romeo’s final ace was indeed the trump card for our survival, delaying the debt peak by a few weeks, and keeping it shallower than it otherwise would have been. If we had been any deeper in debt, and any sooner, we’d absolutely have gone under before the “secret ingredient” could take effect.

I held my breath in bafflement as the debt more-or-less leveled out, just as I ran out of people to borrow from. This was somewhere near the middle of month three, just a week or two after the daily chain gangs completed their tasks on the farms, and life on the estate returned to some sort of normal.

The men resumed their regular estate duties (and production). Sales of goods recovered enough to just about keep pace with the ongoing huge expenses of buying food, and paying interest on our loans.

 

There was a final nerve-wracking week or two of fluctuation as the balance owed bounced around the maximum. The anticipation was agonizing, wondering if we would somehow hold on or go bust. But then, just as Romeo had always believed, we turned the corner. Inexorably at first, then swinging ever more rapidly upwards.

It was astounding. The red ink simply melted away. Vanished from sight. It disappeared from view, submerging like a debt mountain of an island being flooded under a rising tide.

From being painfully deep in debt, we were back in the black by the end of the fourth month. Today, another ten weeks on, we have more gold on hand than the fortune I dipped into to buy Romeo’s precious jewels.

 

What makes this recovery so miraculous, is that we were **_not_ ** spending less. Quite the opposite, in fact.

The food bill did diminish somewhat, as some rejuvenated farms brought in some mediocre harvests. But even today, we’re still subsidizing a significant shortfall, that takes a large chunk of our income.

Once Romeo had convinced us all that the recovering finances were only going to get ever better, and were not some fluke accident of luck, we got stuck into planning the next moves. We found plenty of new ways to spend more money than ever before. The extra activities we started, pursuing those “next challenging horizons” I mentioned previously, consume considerable additional outgoings.

 

So what in Tamriel had happened? The simple explanation, is that our income rose even faster than our expenditure. Not just by a little bit, but by blasting through the roof like Romeo’s altitude record. Manufacturing at the estate was _not_ just back to normal. It accelerated, took off, and soared to new heights at ever faster rates. It was like the snowball rolling down the mountain, gathering speed and size all the time. And it was just as unstoppable. Just like... a rising tide.*  
*  How marvelous that all of those memes should fit together so nicely. Another miracle.

 

Somehow, Romeo had always known about the “secret ingredient”. I’m not sure if it was intuitively buried in his gut instinct, or if he had seen the beginnings of it before the farm crisis pulled everyone away in the chain gangs. But that special something would see our fortunes not just reverse, but change direction so dramatically that a “180 degree U-turn” is not sufficiently extreme enough to describe it accurately. It was **_the_ ** fundamental key behind the prodigious wealth generator, that has given us the financial might to exert our will, and the irresistible power to influence destiny. It was the force that propelled the rising tide to ever greater heights**.  
** the water is so deep already, that I’m increasingly uncertain if that should be “ever greater depths.”

 

The estate had one very special, very _unique_ advantage: _Commune_. The slaves were a mixture of all kinds of trades and skills, originally brought together by the milking factory. I had merely glimpsed restoring those skills, letting them be useful during their “recovery time”. The estate was built to let them do that. But it gained... _more_.

Commune meant all trades together in one place, under one roof, sharing and working together as one team. Nowhere else in Skyrim had this... _beneficial feature_. Milk and Honey Co was not just more than the sum of its parts. The summation itself reveals the “secret ingredient”, once you understand what you’re looking for.

Whereas all of the other slave facilities were set up for one task, and an all-time-consuming task at that, the milking factory men had both the variety of skills and the free time to “do stuff” while their genitals recharged. And that is why this one facility could do what no other could.

The secret ingredient is **_not_ ** about how _much_ was being made. Rather, it’s about _how_ , and especially _what_. Because Commune meant that the company did not stick to making the “same old same old” in the traditional ways.

 

Ironically enough, conditions in the old milking factory did not just drive Romeo and Julian together, for the making of a legend (or two). Those conditions also provided the perfect jump start boost for our implausible success.

The many months and years of boring solitary confinement, meant lots of long, lonely hours of idle dreaming and wishful thinking. Stuck in their cells, many skilled men had thought of plenty of “new ideas” itching for a chance to be explored. With the crises firmly behind us, they now had the time (and liberty!) to start scratching those itches, investigating, experimenting, innovating, and developing.

They tried, they failed, they learned, they tried some more... The information in the library could only go so far to assist. They shared their problems and issues, and helped each other to find new ideas and solutions. They shared their knowledge, and their learning. And, _together_ , they eventually succeeded with everything.

Everyone chipped in, working together towards a common goal of _“better world for all”._ And it was this commune of togetherness that gave us the huge advantage. The benefits snowballed. They found the elusive solutions to the impossible obstacles. And more. _Much_ more.

They found new ways of making things. They made new tools to make their jobs easier. Windmills and waterwheels powered new equipment, instead of their tired arms and legs.

And there, in a nutshell, you have the “ _how_ ” Commune helped our success.

 

As for the “ _what_ ”, it’s nebulous and complex to explain, and best done by example.

At the most basic end of our advantage, that kicked in almost immediately, were simple improvements from combining skills and trades to produce better items than any individual craftsman could make. For instance, a blacksmith cannot make a decent wooden table, and a carpenter cannot make a reasonable hinge. But when they pooled their ideas and skills, they could make “perfect” furniture where everything was “just right”. By both working towards a shared vision, they made components perfectly suited to belonging together in one ideal whole.

Obviously, something like a window or door isn’t anything that special. But by the time you add some interesting angles and shapes, some decorative carving, some stained glass, some ornate ironmongery...  
Without losing any of the base functionality, of course.  
Then add some novel new features... like draft-proofing with inlaid fur strips around the edges...

Suddenly an ordinary door was not just a thing of beautiful craftsmanship to admire every time it was seen and used, but did the job of sealing a drafty entrance-way more efficiently too.

That is just one tantalizing glimpse of what difference the commune of the estate made, elevating simple, everyday items into a more elite class. This sort of thing became our standard production item. Well, I say “standard production”, but there was no obligation on anyone to make production quantities of anything. It was just that, if the men felt so inclined to make a door, that was the sort of door they would make.

In fact, there was only one production schedule at the estate - the universally shared one at the Mark 2, of course.

Beyond that, “management” _sometimes_ suggested what there might be a shortage of, to the appropriate craftsmen, who usually obliged us with whatever we needed readily enough. But we don’t _force_ anyone to make _anything_.

Prestigious goods like that desirable door, that could only be made at the estate where enough trades co-operated in its making, commanded prices and profit margins that reflected their exclusivity. But this is where the wealth generator merely _begins_.

 

That door was conjured up by a couple of collective heads in a day or two, with no particularly difficult problems to overcome. But at the next level up, Commune allowed a wide variety of craftsmen to pool their talents, to create ingenious devices never seen before.

For example, one farmer had an idea for a better plow, but couldn’t see how to build it. He touted the concept around. The other farmers added to the ideas. The guy that understands machinery (the wheels and gears in the mills) worked out how to drive the new digger by mounting it on a wheeled cart. But he couldn’t see how to build it. That’s where the carpenter and blacksmith stepped in, using their skills and knowledge and new ideas to solve those issues.

Put them all together, and the better plow became a reality in a week or two. I call it a “plow”, but really it was a multi-agricultural-tool. It would dig furrows, plant seed, and later on, harvest all manner of produce too. Mounted on wheels, everything was powered by the rolling movement, geared and tuned to do the perfect job, regardless of whatever pace it moved at. All the farmer had to do was steer.

A concept prototype was tested and developed on the estate fields. Weaknesses were strengthened, advantages improved and amplified. Within a week, further prototypes were tested, and “optimized” into three final “standard designs”. The largest version was for a horse to draw. The middle was for two men to pull along, while the miniature “wheelbarrow” version was for a solo farmer to handle.

A few production samples were sent to the slave farms. With the new equipment, the farm slaves were not just able to manage their fields without needing any chain gang help, but could typically add another 50% to their acreage under cultivation, without even breaking sweat.

Before long, the secret was out, and soon we had farmers from all over Skyrim banging on our gates, trying to throw money at us, _demanding_ we sell them one of these new-fangled devices. We quickly sold off our prototypes for a handsome profit, but as the clamor grew, it was clear we had started a new “civil war” in the near-rioting crowd outside, squabbling over perceived preferential treatment.

 

Romeo intervened. He _refused_ to start any “production schedule”, or take any advance orders.

We could have jealously guarded our new technology. We could have mass produced those advanced plows, and made a fortune selling them at exorbitant prices. But Romeo’s _better world for all_ prohibited such practice. He wouldn’t even allow us to just sell the equipment at cheap and affordable prices. He _demanded_ “more”.

 

If those better plows had been around earlier, there would have been no food crisis in the first place. What better way to avoid future famine, than make sure every farmer can grow twice as much food as before? Or, do the same work in half the time and effort, giving the farmer (and especially the farm slave) an easier life... The advantages can be taken in whatever way they choose.

Of greater concern, requiring deeper insight, was that we had instantly made the old tech obsolete. There was a real threat to the business and livelihood of many. Not just the blacksmiths that depended on selling a few plows to make their businesses profitable, but also the farmers that could not afford to compete with their old equipment, in a market about to be flooded with cheaper produce. How could making these people destitute, possibly have any place in a _better world for all?_

Romeo was also smart enough to see that we could never have the production capacity to satisfy the entire Skyrim market, never mind all of Tamriel. Someone would always be left behind, lingering at the tail of the backlog of orders.

His solution was simple. The new plows had to be spread as far and wide, as quickly as possible, as economically as possible.

 

Romeo thus _insisted_ we give away the knowledge and plans and ideas and methods of how to build and use those better plows to anyone and everyone that wanted to know. To him, it made perfect sense to help those supplying the local markets, to get better at making what they already made best.

The better world for all, meant sharing all we know with the world, too.

The farmers were sent home to fetch their local carpenters and blacksmiths. We taught and trained them all how to make and use these new tools, that they could go home to make their own. We even welcome them coming to us with their particular local problems, working with them to adapt the hardware to their own special requirements. We learn from that too - this was not just generosity on our part, but mutually beneficial.

 

Last month, I happened to visit Solitude. As I passed by Katla’s Farm, I was stunned to see Snilling pushing along a four-wheeled one-man cart. It was already a big enough shock to see Snilling doing the work, instead of Katla. But the bigger surprise came from the cart being quite unlike our standard solo plow design (typically only a two-wheeled barrow). Either this was one of those “local solutions” worked out at the estate, or more probably the local smith had done his own thing, and taken the idea further of his own accord, to suit Snilling’s special needs. I made some mental notes of the design, to share with the guys back at the estate upon my return.

But the one thing I remember _most_ about that day, was the beaming smile on Snilling’s face, as he strolled along, letting the gearing on his cart do all the hard work for him. Katla’s job of keeping Solitude fed, had just got a whole lot easier. The _better world for all_ had reached Solitude already, as far as farming went, at least. In less than two months. Romeo was quite right, after all.

 

That all sounds insanely idiotic, though. _Giving away_ our trade secrets and competitive advantage? For _free_? To _anyone_ and _everyone_? Surely we’d be putting ourselves out of business? Well, no, far from it, incredibly enough. Quite surprisingly, this bizarre strategy lets us make vastly _more_ money, in the long run.

For starters, the plow made during each teaching class still gets sold for a fair price. But we make plenty of money from the free sharing, as the kindness comes snowballing back to us. As usual, we ask for nothing, but people feel compelled to return the kindness somehow. Some smiths give us a small share of the extra profit they make, whenever they sell one of our “improved designs”. Some farmers give us a bushel of corn, from the extra field they could cultivate with their new plow. Payment in kind pours in through the gates just as fast as the gold.

And I’ve only discussed _ONE_ item here - the new plow. Never mind all of the other novel hardware that began appearing over the next few weeks and months, when the estate staff _REALLY_ got going.

 

Romeo is definitely smart, not mad. Making sure the local craftsmen can make the stuff themselves, fulfilling their local needs, relieves us of any pressure to have a “production schedule” at the estate. That gives us more time to do even more of the special new stuff ourselves. To make new breakthroughs. To make ever greater advances. To discover ever more clever ideas, and craft even more unusual wares.

We’re never short of new things to share and sell. Because, as time goes on, the synergy at the estate just gets better and better. These days, the craftsmen ask “what if?” possibility questions, and make “how can we?” demands, instead of just quietly lamenting about the “I wish we could” problems that thwarted the original great inventions they had in mind.

 

Our Commune advantage was even bigger than that, though.

Many staff did not just ply their original skills, but tried something other than their “traditional family trade”. The real surprises came from the multitude of bored guards, looking for new vocations. And that includes all of the guards from all of the slave camps, that were gradually reassigned as and when we felt we could, without attracting the jarl’s attention.

The point is, we had more than enough people, to diversify into all sorts of new and novel craftsmanship, adding uniquely special skills to the Commune mixing pot. We now have weavers that fabricate our own materials, artists to paint and decorate, metal-smiths and jewel-smiths and mechanics and chemists and all sorts of artisans that have explored and discovered hidden talents. All adding their individual bit to the growing variety of what we could attempt to make. Innovation abounds. And the extraordinary things they craft are, well, extraordinary.

 

To describe what this team creates as “desirable”, is insulting understatement. And while much of it is just sensible enhancement of basic wares that you’d find in any market, it is the more exceptional, unusual, and exclusive items that catch all of the glory for their fantastic value. Our Commune drives an astounding wealth-creating engine.

 

The most extravagant example of this outrageous fortune, would be the unassuming, ordinary guard, that had been enduring the daily grind of being a nasty bully in the old milking factory. But he was picked to come to the new estate, and found himself twiddling his thumbs. He took the opportunity to satisfy a personal curiosity by carefully studying just one book in our library. He was granted permission - nay, _encouraged_ \- to “have a go”, when he asked if he could try something new.

The carpenter made him all the tools he wanted, and he “borrowed” the blacksmith’s forge to craft his wares. He started simply enough, making goblets and vases and bottles from the fused sand. The metal-smith and alchemist and jeweler contributed some color and decoration, both infused within and adorned on top of his creations. But he has now honed his glass blowing skills far beyond the basics of that book. His imagination is the only limit of what he conjures. With a little help from his Commune friends now and then, of course.

He pours heart and soul into his work, adding his unique artistic flair to the stunningly beautiful objects we can literally name our price for. But I’m not talking about the now-wonderfully-decorated goblets and vases and bottles, which already fetch embarrassingly high prices. I mean the “other stuff”, that has no precedent, and is almost beyond description.

I’m not a cultured soul. I don’t really understand what it is that makes his “Fabulous Eggs” so fabulous - perhaps it’s the slight innuendo hinting that they might be modeled on the pair that started the legend. But there is no denying their breath-taking aesthetics.

I was so enchanted by his “Frostfall Egg”*** - dazzling crystal and etched glass and jewels and fine silver filigree - I refused to let it be sold. It now takes pride of place, on public display in the center of the atrium, between company reception, Mark 2 production hall, and mess hall, for everyone to admire as they pass by.  
*** anyone not “getting it” should look up the Winter Egg by Faberge. Or just marvel at the Google images of any and all Faberge Eggs. Completely and utterly useless decorative lumps, for me these are _by far_ the epitome of man-made “aesthetic beauty” - of fabulously extravagant divine creative art, existing purely for the sake of indulgent gorgeousness. With priceless values to match.

These Eggs have absolutely no useful function, other than to please the eye. And yet these stunningly beautiful, purely decorative lumps of art, can fetch the most obscene prices. We’ve sent a few Eggs all the way to Imperial City, and the mind-boggling price one fetched at auction recently, covered the entire running costs of Milk and Honey Co for a whole _month_. One Egg! On its own! It sold for more than I paid for Romeo’s _pair_. Has the world gone _mad_? Perhaps that was the Sheogorath Egg.....

_(And by now it’s quite obvious how and why the red ink vanished so rapidly...)_

But that guard is also a great example of how we let everyone decide for themselves how much kindness to repay. He’s a hired guard, not a slave. He _could_ leave us tomorrow, and make a personal fortune, plying his new trade independently. And yet, he chooses to remain an employee, be part of the Commune team, happy and content to earn modest wages, whilst his treasured wares earn the company a fortune instead.

It turns out, that this is just the kindness snowballing back to us again. The company gave him everything he needed, supporting his brave new venture, not caring about the wasted resources of his early laughable accidents. (Incidentally, those misshapen blobs of mirth are now almost as precious as his Eggs, having their own quaint charm, but they remain fondly secured in a coveted corner of his personal exhibition case.) But even the exponential growth of compound interest does not account for the _magnitude_ of what he is giving back to us.

I am in no doubt that he has more than paid his dues. But I think he senses that the _effort_ he has put in, is no greater than that of his colleagues. That he’s just lucky to have stumbled onto a ~~gold~~ glass mine, that provides a richer seam of rewards than any other.

He is also highly aware, that the revenues his humble efforts bring in, can do far more general good going into the coffers of Milk and Honey Co, than into his own pocket. He’s definitely one of the good guys, supporting the company to keep doing its good work. Because he knows he could not do that work by himself. It's the same story as my own - I had to rely on Romeo and Julian to make anything good come from my own personal fortune.

Sometimes folk are willing to contribute far more than their fair share for the greater good.

 

The Fabulous Eggs are the best, but by no means the only, examples of the rare and exotic items we make and sell. Furniture, garments, jewellery, tools, farming implements, industrial machinery rivaling Dwemer ingenuity, all of it bespoke and unique, all of it commanding prices far beyond the actual value of their constituent parts... The worth of Commune has been, well, priceless.

 

But, just as Romeo sometimes had to demonstrate with the Mark 2 production charts, everybody counts towards the end result in their own way. The humble forester that cuts the trees and saws the logs is just as fundamental to the finished product as the craftsman that French Polished the glamorous new throne to perfection. I mean, if the forester chose a bad tree to start with, we’d be French Polishing a rotten turd instead of a beautiful piece of furniture. Even the quality of the Fabulous Eggs depends significantly on the excellence of the sand dug up specifically for them at one particular farm.

 _Everybody_ is vital to the production chain - including the slaves in the other camps that dig the ore and chop the trees. Thankfully Julian is wise enough to make sure that everybody receives the proper credit and appreciation for their efforts. “ _Everybody contributes different things in different ways_ ” has never been so appropriate. Smart guy, that Julian. I think Romeo’s been rubbing off on him.****  
****Yes. Intentional double entendre, so please laugh. Even though intelligence is not an STD.

 

So there you have it. Milk and Honey Co had stumbled onto the perfect prosperity recipe. Take all of the raw materials we could ever want, add together all of the skilled artisans present on the estate, all working in harmony, and we were able to produce some of the most exquisite, most magnificent, most exceptional wares Skyrim has ever seen. We gave away and shared as much of our gains and benefits as we could, yet there was no way we could keep up with the growing demand, as word of our unique products spread around the country.

That is why the cash began pouring into the company at the most unprecedented rate, and accelerating all the time, as the estate staff gained ever more experience and confidence to push the limits. That huge debt that caused me so many sleepless nights, was obliterated by the secret Commune ingredient that only the Milk and Honey Co estate had access to.

Romeo was quite happy to let people with more money than sense keep paying us small fortunes for the elite goods, and big fortunes for the frivolous luxury things they desired. He gets no argument from me.

In my eyes, it was those high-value products that swept the rising tide to all new heights, ultimately providing the economic leverage for our ongoing mission to bring down the jarl and his cronies. Those next challenging horizons were looming ever closer. Reaching them depended only on when we had the income to take the expensive actions required. I was adamant that the big ticket items were indispensable.

And yet, in Romeo’s eyes, they merely gave us the funds to keep making and developing and improving those simple basic wares that _really mattered_ in his _better world for everyone_. He was equally adamant that abandoning and ignoring the more modest non-profit-making basic production was out of the question.

He pointed out that the warm cloak, and comfortable bed, and iron cooking pot, and ceramic bowl, make life infinitely more pleasant for the average person, than having a Fabulous Egg to stare at all day. He never let us lose sight of that simple fact.

He did not care that making the everyday crockery and clothing and basic functional stuff had become an almost worthless distraction and time-waster. Disproportionately high effort for very little return, if any. Romeo insisted that we should continue making some at all times. He explained it as follows:

Firstly, making something well known, tried, and proven, was almost a holiday for the crafter. They didn’t have to think hard about it, and that made it pleasurable, easy work that let them “rest and recuperate”, while still making something useful.

Secondly, because there was always the chance of discovering yet new methods and materials that could revolutionize the most simple object. There was the occasional “eureka” moment that arrived during such daydreaming production. And, it gave a chance to try out novel automated machinery - like the potter’s wheel, that could make three bowls of identical top quality in the time it took a skilled potter to make one by hand.

Thirdly, because some craftsmen were quite content to merely “do the day job”. They were not striving for better things, or wanting to test theories. So, letting them be production jockeys was their preferred choice, and kept them happy. Even if we had wanted it, we could not _force_ everyone to be “ideas” people.

Fourthly, because the vast majority of end customers would still benefit from the high quality and plentiful supply that kept prices down, and availability high. We still supply those basic wares to the original manufacturers as per our original deals.

The one big danger was, our basic production began supplying such good stuff, so cheaply, we were putting those original manufacturers out of business. Just like the plows threatened the blacksmiths and farmers, the traditional manufacturing estates were now struggling to make their own inferior products for the retail prices we wanted them to sell our goods at.

I’m sure you can already guess how we fixed that. We taught them how to step up their own production, giving them our new equipment, teaching and sharing our new methods, and making sure they could make the same thing just as well as us, but in the bulk quantities they were used to churning out. These everyday goods are not where we make our money, so we lose nothing from this. We’re just delegating the “production schedule” bulk of the manufacturing to them. And passing on the benefits of better goods at the same or lower prices to everyone.

 

We help and encourage everyone from all over Skyrim to take whatever they can learn from us, and lift their own businesses accordingly. That isn’t limited to blacksmiths and farmers learning about better plows. Our gates are open to anyone that wants to just come and watch what goes on. After a little careful vetting, to make sure you’re not just here to spy for the jarl, of course. We don’t really want him to see how “pleasant” life is for his milking slaves these days.

 

The estate is not really a slave facility any more. It remains the place of incarceration of the milking slaves, obliged to deliver the daily quota at the Mark 2, but beyond that trivial distraction, it is now the HQ of a business empire with tendrils that stretch out all over the hold, all over Skyrim, over Morrowind and Cyrodiil, and increasingly over all of Tamriel itself. The company emblem - a simple M ~~I~~ , discretely embossed or engraved only on the exclusive wares sold directly from our own warehouses - has become known throughout the land as a synonym for the very best goods money can buy. In mere _months_. Word spread almost as fast as the Legend.

 

We’ve even had to buy the land adjoining the estate, so that the steady stream of Khajiit traders that ransack our storerooms almost daily, seeking treasures to sell in distant lands, have a convenient place to set up camp.

Most pleasingly, they also bring us exotic raw materials. Whatever they bring, is bought. It doesn’t matter whether we require their offerings or not - sooner or later, someone will need what has already been procured, patiently waiting in a supply room for the day it is wanted. Waiting for the day our magicians will weave it into ever more delectable objects of desire using their magical skills.

Romeo haggles a little, for the sport and fulfillment of the expected social etiquette. It can be quite amusing to watch him use his intimidating presence, puffing his chest and flexing a few muscles, before polishing his tusks at the perfect moment for the poor Khajiit trader to squirm, crumble, and cave in to Romeo's suggested price. But he never lets things rest there. He has his fun, but the deal is always struck for a fair to generous price. Besides, if we did not buy fairly, then they would have no cash to buy from us. How could we expect them to travel such vast distances for such disappointment? We would not be sharing our _better world for all_ if we turned them away with no lucrative deal in their favor.

Besides, now that you have seen the cash flow we have to work with, there is ample company wealth to reward their efforts and risks to come to us. While not obliged to, the Bandit Suppression Squad will come to their aid and protection if they can. For us, it helps secure the business. For the BSS, it’s just extra fun and entertainment, cracking some more bandit heads.

 

With wealth creation of that magnitude, we soon felt envious eyes staring at us from all directions, all wanting a bite of our exclusive cherry. Our economic boom was noticed by all.

The Bandit Suppression Squad escorting our trade caravans even reported a significant increase in ambushes and attacks. Much to their _delight_ , of course, as they “suppressed” the threats with zero tolerance.

They are intensely proud of their perfect loss-less record. And that makes them particularly vicious and mean these days. No-one wants to be the first guard responsible for blemishing that immaculate achievement, so they fight with added fervor and extra zeal. Anyone thinking they can score big time with an opportunist strike, really should think again. _I_   wouldn’t want to take them on. Do _you_ really feel that lucky? But please, by all means, go ahead, have a go. You’d _make their day_...

 

I wasn’t concerned with petty bandits, though. While Romeo wrestled with the company behemoth, Julian wrestled with the staff, the Sales Reps took over most of my grunt work, and the jarl kept quiet, there was increasingly little for me to do within the day-to-day running of the company.

So I started an entirely different wrestling match. My attention shifted towards the brown-nosing noble houses still sucking up to the jarl and his evil ways.

I was dusting off my list of names - those obnoxious swine that had disgusted me with their predatory advances after Romeo’s auction.

We now had the economic muscle to start dismantling the regime, and my first targets had already announced themselves, loud and clear, long ago, on strange day.

It was time for payback. With _lashings_ of added compound interest.*****  
***** I hope you get the _vicious_ way I mean that to be read... this is not the usual Romeo effect _at all_. Well, it is, but... isn’t. This particular snowballing comes with added Dragonborn vengeance.


	19. The Land of Milk and Honey Co - Crying over spilt Milk (1. The Hit List)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part D is where the Dragonborn describes how the jarl's cronies are dealt with. But it is posted in pieces, because it has been... impossible... to edit into a readable chapter in one go.
> 
> The story loops right back right back to chapter 1, where the dragonborn declared how much they "love challenges like {breaking the unbreakable status quo}". The declaration of hostilities on strange day, finally moves onto the battlefield. 
> 
> It reveals how the wealth of M&H Co was used to bring down the regime. Except that, under Romeo's influence, the dragonborn doesn't get to spill any milk - not even the red kind. Which makes it a very unusual battle, unlike any the dragonborn has fought before. 
> 
> Are you ready for the conspiracy?  
> Romeo might already have you by the pursestrings, and you don't even know it...
> 
>  
> 
> Piece 1 introduces the Hit List - the names of the targets
> 
> (PS: If you've previously read the preceding chapters, given the 18 month delay between that posting and this one, you might want to re-read the last few paras of the previous chapter. It got tweaked, to transition better.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Back again after a ridiculously long hiatus. Sorry about the wait. I wasn't trapped in a jarl facility. Honest. Although it felt like it, somedays.  
> This story WILL be completed, and this restart is to make sure it keeps going. Part D will stagger out piece by piece - four or five in all (or maybe ten!) - but the few chapters that follow on are ready to go. 
> 
> This 'impossible' chapter has caused me endless grief. There is so much I wanted to put in it, and every re-write added some new stuff. 
> 
> It got so big, I've had to divide it up into these smaller bits to get through it. And even now... it isn't well written, being cobbled together from so many different threads. But it's time to put it out there, accept it won't ever be that great, and get this monster published in its entireity.
> 
> There is also an "optional" piece, whereby one of the nobles is shown around the Milk and Honey Co estate. It gives a clearer view of how the place operates day-to-day. I was surprised how much more the place came to life when I wrote it. Although, I suspect it exists purely for the sake of one incredibly labored joke. 
> 
>  
> 
>  

### The Land of Milk and Honey Co

###    
Part D: Crying over spilt Milk  
Piece 1. The Hit List

My strange day list of names noted whom I most wanted to receive a taste of their own sadistic medicine. But my new wrestling match was not just about payback for bad behavior.

When I first saw the scale of the horrific suffering in the jarl's slave camps, my view softened and broadened. I became aware there was much more at stake, than mere retribution. My desire for justice could harm a great many more lives than just the targets on my list.

Being part of the jarl’s 'in-crowd' brought certain fringe benefits. He propped up his regime, by coercing his nobles to partake in his evil ways. He bought the complicit allegiance of his cronies by gifting them slaves of their own, to use and abuse as they wished.

The lesser-favored noble might only have a house servant or two. But the more powerful families that the jarl wanted to keep really sweet, had received more than enough meat to run their own massive internment facilities. Some of them were larger than any of the jarl’s camps. Perhaps 25% of the slaves in the hold were still in private hands, frustratingly beyond our protection.

I shuddered with the thought of what atrocities were being perpetrated in secret, if the appalling actions of said nobles on strange day were anything to go by. The time had come to stop shedding tears for the abject misery and daily suffering inflicted in those private facilities. I was ready to inflict some misery and suffering of my own.

I longed to deliver an accidental mauling or mysterious disappearance, or suchlike. But my reprisal plans were trumped by a need to shield the still-vulnerable slaves from further harm. An assault against a vindictive noble might prompt merciless retaliation against the helplessly defenseless trapped at their fickle whim. Talos might forgive me for it, but I knew Romeo would not. Not if there was a better way, in his better world for all.

Defeating the nobles needed a strategy that avoided collateral damage. I couldn't yet see a way to take this non-violent fight to the establishment. But that didn't stop me preparing for battle.

 

I had already hung the huge board that nearly filled a wall in the main office, when Romeo caught me in the act.

He watched inquisitively, sidling closer, while I wrote some names on the blank chalkboard strips hanging from the pins. My list of the sickening sycophants of strange day provided the first entries in the top rows. But when I nearly broke the chalk angrily grinding an asterisk into the first column to indicate why they had earned my 'special attention', he cautiously enquired "What's all this, then?"

"I'm going to call it 'The Hit List'," I replied with grim determination. "You might not have noticed at the time, being somewhat... preoccupied... but there were some rather unsavory characters salivating over your private parts back on strange day. I've been plotting their reckoning ever since."

"Why, Dragonborn, I wasn't aware you still recall that day," teased Romeo. As if it was possible for anyone to ever forget the Legend.

I kept writing, as I growled my reply. "Romeo... how can I put this? There isn’t a day goes by, that I see you... _ALL_ of you... intact and whole... and am _not_ reminded of the festering evil that permeates this land. That day, I vowed to put to an end to _ALL_ of the misery in this hold. There is so much perversion and corruption and injustice to overcome. Plenty of punishment to mete out. But more importantly, there are many more vulnerable slaves desperately needing salvation from cruel overlords. I feel the time is nigh. Thanks to you, we have not just survived, but can consider taking the fight to these... these... _vermin_. If there is one thing I am absolutely certain of, it is that these _swine_ are _**GOING DOWN**_." The chalk finally shattered in my heated fury.

A large pair of arms engulfed me from behind. I was lifted off my feet, crushed into the incurable hugger's big chest, while he fondly kissed the top of my head. He only managed to add a gentle "Unless..." before he was rudely interrupted.

"A- _HEM_ ," came the indignant accusation from the doorway. "Excuse _ME!_ What's this I hear about _'going down'_?"

A startled Romeo spun around, still clutching me like a toy doll. Arms folded, an annoyed-looking Nord tapped his foot at our spooning cuddle.

I could feel the heat radiating from Romeo's innocent face, while he awkwardly put me down.

Usually, I'd play along with Julian. He knows there is no threat to their relationship, so I help him milk every compromising position that poor Romeo gets caught in. The extra effort he puts into the bedroom reparations are... well, lets just say it comes snowballing back to Julian with compound interest and dollops of whipped cream. Cough. Ahem.

But I was too incensed to play along this time. I snarled: “Romeo was just thanking me for showing him my Hit List. These are the noble scum I want to put out of business.”

" _Unless they change their evil ways_ ," amended Romeo, making sure I got his previously interrupted message. His firm grip squeezing my shoulders warned me not to object.

"I see", sighed Julian, disappointed to have missed out on some extra-special TLC from Romeo later on. But he caught the gravity of the mood, and added his two-septim-worth: “But I think it needs a little something extra. Like, perhaps, a decorative tapestry to hide behind. This is slightly too incriminating, to just leave hanging out in the open like this.”

He was right. This mission was top secret, and had to remain so. We could not risk anyone finding out what we were up to, or who we were targeting.

Thus it began. The economic mother of all takedowns.

We crafted a benevolent conspiracy so complex, so all-encompassing, yet so filled with trepidation that the slightest mis-step could spell death for many slaves, that even three months on, it is still difficult to define or talk about.

It started out as pure economic warfare. Romeo knew that gold talks loudest of all, and when it spoke, we could get those nobles to listen.

He intended putting the financial squeeze on their livelihoods, until they bent under the pressure. He didn't want to break them. Just make them desperate for relief, that they might turn to us for help, like we had helped the jarl's facilities.

Then we could enlighten them, showing them the morals and ethics we wanted them to adopt. Better yet, we'd make them enact the changes, getting them to build our better world themselves. We'd positively reward them, like Pavlov's dog, for behaving the way we wanted them to. And drive them to bankruptcy if they didn't.

 

The idea that these despicable nobles should have any chance of redemption was incongruous. They fully deserved to have the unrestrained ferocity of the Bandit Suppression Squad unleashed on their loathsome backsides.

 _But Romeo had Spoken_.

Teaching the bad people how to be better people, was much more important to him than giving them a taste of their own medicine, or delivering justice for their crimes. His better world for all, really does mean 'all'. Including those noble scum I would not consider worthy of wiping my shit-covered boots on.

He remembered every painful pinch and intimate squeeze of strange day with startling clarity. And yet, he preferred to lure his tormentors into his better world, using the wealth of Milk and Honey Co to tempt and bait our honey traps. He simply would not let me return their 'favors' with payment in kind. While adding my _lashings_ of compound interest that might (hopefully) lead to an extinction event...

 

Smart guy, that Romeo. He always knew that the best way - and perhaps the _only_ way - to change the regime, was to _change the_ _behavior_ of those controlling the regime, not to replace the people in charge. And that includes the jarl, too.

Get those at the top to behave better, and those they command feel the benefit. The good example positively influences any that experience it. Which cascades all the way down the social tree, paving the way for a permanent shift to a nicer, more pleasant, better world for all. We could reach everyone, just by influencing a few. 'Optimization' was at work, even here.

But the _how_ mattered just as much, if not more. You can't teach better behavior by behaving badly yourself.

As the dragonborn, I am accustomed to being in charge. It was humbling, but necessary, to accept that Romeo was the true leader of the better world for all. I had to follow his example to be part of it.

Persuading the nobles to amend their nasty habits had to be done by dangling juicy carrots, not threatening to beat them with sticks. The whole reason for the hit list was that they routinely beat their slaves with sticks. So, using that threat would be hypocritical in the extreme. Leading by example meant that I had to play nice too.  

This was the big change _I_ had to make, reforming myself _first_ , before I could preach to any of the nobles. With Romeo trapped at the estate, only I had contact with them. It was all down to me to deliver his loving nudges onto the path to a better world. He made me swear by Talos to do that with as much tender care and delicate loving finesse that he would, keeping my vengeance safely sheathed.

I could take them out, like I wanted. And then I'd have to eliminate their even worse replacements. And keep on culling, until there was no-one left. And after that level of management cleansing, _would I be any better than the jarl?_ Thankfully wise Romeo was there to save me from myself, before I discovered my truly dark side.

 

There was just one gigantic problem: how to get involved in the nobles' private businesses? The jarl had no jurisdiction to invite us there. The nobles had to do that themselves.

We needed to catch their attention, in the biggest possible way. We needed a big carrot to dangle.*  
* a big financial carrot, I mean. Dangling Romeo's big carrot wouldn't suffice. It would certainly catch their attention strongly enough, but not in the right way.

 


	20. The Land of Milk and Honey Co - Crying over spilt Milk (2. Getting the party Started)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piece 2: Getting the Party Started  
> The dragonborn catches the nobles' attention.  
> Romeo flexes his financial muscle. But there are dangerous side effects and consequences.  
> 

### The Land of Milk and Honey Co

###    
Part D: Crying over spilt Milk  
Piece 2. Getting the Party Started

I spotted the perfect opportunity looming. I had a few quiet words with a few of the estate staff about how they could assist me to get this new party started.

Well, actually, I didn’t start the party at all. Instead, I was fashionably late for it, making up a suitable excuse about 'having to deal with some revolting slaves,'* so would the jarl please forgive my late arrival for his birthday party?  
* We apologize for the sheer corniness of that old joke. Of course, I meant it _only_ as in 'revolution', but everyone else at the party would read it the other way and laugh. [Spoiler alert:] Or so I _presumed_ , anyway...  

The jarl had been having a marvelous time, lapping up the simpering adulation from his sycophantic entourage. I made sure I arrived after all of the other presents had been opened. I placed my gift on the edge of the table, and offered some more profuse apologies. "I hope this makes up for it," I pleaded earnestly.

His haughty reception of my tardy timing changed rapidly as he ripped away the gilded paper and decorative bow from the modest parcel. He lifted the box lid, glimpsed the contents, and froze. He gasped in wonder. More astonished gasps echoed around the hushed room, as the carefully crafted hinged sides dropped away, coyly revealing the precious contents to everyone.

The eye-poppingly gorgeous Fabulous Egg at the centre of attention, made all the other lavish gifts seem like worthless trinkets and baubles. He picked it up and carried it reverentially to the main dining table, where he swept his own birthday cake to the floor to make space. 

The fist-sized facetted crystal egg, sparkling like Tamriel's biggest diamond, sat atop a thin golden spire, mounted on a sturdy golden base. When I lit the purposely-provided candles around the base, the egg seemed to glow with life. All colors of the rainbow shimmered from within, as the flickering flames refracted through the mystical object. The mesmerized onlookers struggled to breathe.

For the coup-de-grace, I wound the little crank at the back. The egg began revolving, scattering colored rays about the room, while tinkling out the pleasant melody that I knew was his wife’s favorite tune. The crowd squeaked in delighted awe.

She floated across the room, to give me a hug and light peck on the cheek. The crowd held its breath. As did I, catching a whiff of the scent from her recent bath.

But I smiled sweetly, and kowtowed to the jarl, to avoid any unpleasantries of 'stealing his wife'.

I was in luck. He hadn’t even noticed she was missing. He had not taken his eyes off that captivating orb, such was the way it dazzled and bewitched, while the rainbows danced about the room**.    
** We’ll have to name it, the '80's Disco Mirror Ball' Egg, right? OMG, no doubt about it, after Googling that name and seeing the images... 

His wife quickly returned to his side, cooing and clinging to her now-instantly-highly-more-desirably-wealthy husband. She leaned in to kiss him. I could see the same old greedy gears grinding through her mind. _Perhaps he'll give it to me later, if I let him give it to me now, in the bedroom..._

He read her thoughts, just like I did. He turned to gaze at her lustful eyes, and kissed her hard on the mouth, drawing blood where he bit her lip. _Yeah, he was still that kind of guy_.

Then the pair retreated up the stairs, ignoring the party, flirting and harassing each other, making all sorts of inappropriate noises and suggestions. Fortunately the spectators had the Egg to entertain them, so it wasn't awkward at all.

 

The plan had worked to perfection. I was ready and waiting to seize the power vacuum left behind, once the jarl had departed the room.

"Phew," I exclaimed, "that egg appears to have saved my bacon."

_Deep breath now - the big moment has come..._

Casually I remarked: "Lucky I had a few spare lying around at the estate. Business is really booming these days. Don't you think?"

I had rehearsed those words for _days_. Only the beads of sweat on my forehead gave away my acute discomfort, chatting pleasantly to these fiends.

The practice was worth it. The bold statement was overwhelming imprinted on my audience. The jarl could never afford to buy an Egg, despite his recent windfalls from M&H Co. But apparently I had the wealth to casually _give away_ such priceless treasure - quite simply _THE_ most Fabulous Egg ever created - as if it was an everyday item, surplus to requirements.

There was clearly a new main player in the room. The new kid on the block, had just bought all of the attention of all the people I wanted to hear me.

They could all feel how ~~the wind had shifted~~ the tide had turned. While the prices of our more glamorous goods raised one eyebrow, the substantial uptick in production at all of the 'optimized' slave facilities, raised the other. The jarl's way was obsolete. Milk and Honey Co held the key to the future.

The estate was already more wealthy than any single noble house in the hold. And rapidly heading towards exceeding their combined wealth. Our rising tide was surging onwards and upwards. It was time for one and all to 'go with the flow' or drown in the turbulence of our wake.

It was time for them to reconsider their allegiances. And especially their behavior. We had the financial muscle to bankrupt anyone who didn’t play ball the way we wanted them to. But we still gave them the choice. They could join us willingly, accepting our invitation and agreeing to make changes. They could be financially pressured into acquiescing to our will. Or they could resist us to the bitter end.

The only leverage I had, to gain their ears and permission to enter their facilities, was by making them want what Milk and Honey Co had. Like that scintillating egg gently pirouetting on the table, still playing the beautiful music. I knew there was not a single person in that room that did not desire it beyond all temptation.

The sickening sycophants slithered closer.

One of my top Hit List targets answered my generic question: "Well, no, not really. In fact, I'm struggling to break even some days, no matter how hard I drive my slaves."

I couldn't stop my smile of satisfaction, but disguised it by raising my eyebrows in fake surprise. Romeo had already been flexing his financial muscles, gently tinkering with market forces behind the scenes. He'd been manipulating supply and demand, and prices of specific raw materials and finished goods, to raise costs and hurt sales, as and when our wealth permitted. All of which was intended to squeeze the profit margins of specific Hit List targets.

It was oh-so-satisfying to hear that some were _already_ feeling the pinch. They might have hurt him in the genitals, but he was hurting them back already, in their pockets.

But the stark warning was also there: some slaves were suffering because of it, being pushed harder to make up for the shortfall. This was a highly dangerous knock-on effect. We'd have to be careful, limiting our financial pressure to ways that didn't affect the slaves' chances to be productive and satisfy their nobles' demands. Cutting off the supply of raw materials was not going to help slaves subject to 'pay-for-performance' - they'd be starved if there was nothing for them to work with.

We'd have to find more devious ways to get those elusive nobles to comply. And, in time, we found the perfect tools. That doesn't mean there haven't been serious injuries and casualties. Sometimes you have to spill real blood, and cry real tears about it, to make it look convincing. But that doesn't mean you have to let anyone bleed out...

Especially not when you have the best infirmary in Skyrim at your disposal. More on that later.

 

For now, the Fabulous Egg bait proved enticing enough, to get the snowball rolling.

The nasty noble continued: "Just how _do_ you optimize your facilities with such ruthless efficiency? Will you share some of your secrets with us?"

 _GOTCHA!_   _Step into my trap_ , said the Dragonborn to the flies. I didn't even care that he didn't even say 'Please'.

"Hmmmm. Well, truth is, I've already been thinking about how to help you _all_ reap the proper rewards you so richly deserve." _There is nothing like flattery to disguise a veiled threat._

"I've been feeling a little guilty that Milk and Honey Co's stupendous success might be threatening your profit margins. But it's not like I can throttle back my optimizations. How about I help you optimize your facilities instead?"

The audience shifted some more. Some drew closer, eager to hear more. Others slipped away, not ready nor willing to submit.

"I have some free time over the next few weeks," I said, pulling out my diary. "Who would like me to drop by, and evaluate their facilities? I'll be happy to help you _stay in business_ , if you're happy to let me show you how it should be done."

This was their first wake-up call. I was offering salvation, but they had to act now, accept my proposal, and let Milk and Honey Co 'show them the way'. The message was subtle, but also not-so-discretely made everyone aware they should sit up and take notice of the tidal wave imminently sweeping their way. That they should listen up, and listen _hard_ , because from now on, their 'free reign' was over. That ignoring me now, would have... consequences.

Romeo's big carrot was too good to be true. Milk and Honey Co would willingly share the bounty of our success, and help anyone that wished it, to optimize their production facilities and businesses.

But Romeo's big carrot _was_ too good to be true. There was one catch. I made it abundantly clear, that I would help _ONLY_ if they did things _my_ way. If they followed my suggestions to the letter. If they made sanctioned changes I approved of.

 ** _They would be permitted to succeed, only if they co-operated with me._** This was meant to be taken as literal truth and an absolute threat, but many preferred to take it under optional advisement. In time, they would learn to listen the hard way, making their revised decisions at the edge of bankrupt oblivion.

I think most of them missed that subtle detail in the fine print. Perhaps they were blinded by the dazzling egg that I had just put within their grasp.

 

The demand for attention rapidly escalated into chaos. Nobles squabbled like children over the pecking order, with accusations of preferential treatment being met with physical threats, slapfights, and actual headlocks and fisticuffs.

But I knew exactly who I wanted to treat preferentially. Their names already decorated the Hit List. I had blocked out enough diary slots in the coming days to make sure I would scrutinize them first.

I kept out of the kafuffle, discretely picking off my targets one by one, and grabbing a quick synopsis from them while settling on a date and time. The agreed appointment was accompanied by a brief summary of their facility: how big, what they did, and how they tried to do it. Romeo needed these details to conjure up appropriate business plans to wrap around the 'be nice to slaves' core.

I was straining to keep up, jotting down reminders of the first impressions they had all made. I noted who was in favor of brutal exploitation, and who was more sympathetic to the plight of defenseless slaves. Who was ready to hear my advice, and who thought they knew better. Who dismissed skeptically, and who seemed enthusiastic to try something new. There were columns for all of these factors on the Hit List board.

It was _damned_ hard work. Made even harder for me, having to suppress my bristling fury as some regaled proud tales of their own 'optimization' efforts - stories of threats and floggings and punishments that had seemed effective in motivating their workforces. For a while, anyway.

I was sure _someone_ would spot the steam rising from my ears, while I listened to how much some of them were looking forward to seeing me extract 'more, _much_ more' from their indentured workers, in the same way I had driven Romeo far beyond his limits on Strange Day.

 _Keep calm_ , echoed Romeo’s wise words of forethought advice. _Just record the facts, and ignore the emotional reaction - score it as a 'hatred' factor instead._ I tried. I really did. But sometimes the scale simply didn't go high enough to put a number or word to it.

The most sickening gory tale was of a slave who was literally worked to death - no rest, no food, no water, no sleep. He survived for 51 hours, apparently, before his battered body stopped reacting to the whip. "Put the fear of the Divines into the rest of them," boasted the noble malevolently. "Upped productivity by 20% overnight. I wonder if your 'optimization' can beat that, eh?"

 _Challenge accepted_ , I thought. _I will optimize your beating with the utmost pleasure._ I wrote that he should permanently take the top row on the board. _Hatred factor - infinity._ But I was still obliged to keep smiling sweetly while offering even this atrocious reprobate a piece of Romeo’s overly generous carrot***.  
*** don’t laugh. That is _not_ innuendo. This is a serious matter, damnit. Now, behave. Or I'll sic Jealous Julian on you.

 

The hubbub subsided, as the last few clamoring nobles were accommodated in my diary. I caught my breath, heaved a sigh of relief that it was over, and added some final footnotes. Only, it wasn't over at all.

Incredibly enough, there were quite a few aloof nobles proud and arrogant enough to decline the generous offer. They were standing off, arms folded, keeping their distance on the opposite side of the room. Some looked neutral. Some had smug grins, haughtily scoffing and indifferently dismissing the peacock display with condescension and contempt. Some just looked away in scornful disdain. _You fools. You just put yourselves at the top of the Hit List._ I noted their names, but grudgingly gave them kudos for resisting the irresistible temptation.

 

I went over, and gave them one last chance, personally, one-on-one, in private. The situation proved more complex than I had presumed. There were three kinds of snubber.

 

The neutral type revealed that they had no slave facilities, but only a few house servants. "Much though I would love to know your secrets, I have no slaves to optimize, thank you very much."

"Doesn't matter," I countered. "Milk and Honey Co is still happy to offer you free business advice, if you want it." They all jumped at the unexpected generosity, and I added more appointments. I chose times that ensured being received at their manor for refreshments, that I could catch an eyeful of the house servants, and hopefully have a few words with them, too.  

No-one could know that this had nothing to do with optimizing facilities, and everything to do with being invited inside. It didn’t really matter how _many_ slaves they had, or what they did with them. What interested me most, was how those slaves were treated. 'Attitude' already said a lot, but I wanted to see the reality with first-hand observation. Only then could we determine how much 'behavior correction' was needed.

 

Both of the other types of snubber firmly rejected the offer.

One kind looked me straight in the eye, gloating with supreme confidence that I could not possibly improve their slave performance. These hardline refuseniks cemented their status at the very top of the list. Something about them made my skin crawl. I had a nasty feeling I wasn't going to like what I'd find behind their estate walls.

The other kind simply didn't want to know. They treated me with contempt, arms firmly folded, noses in the air, avoiding all eye contact. As if they would prefer I didn't exist. They would only give me a curt "Not interested, thank you." They stayed at the top of the list too. Refusing to invite me in was a serious red flag that earned them significant bad marks in the hit list rankings.

Of course, I did not need anyone's invitation. I am the Dragonborn, after all. For now, anyone that _still_ refused the carrot, merely exercised my sneaky stealth skills instead. I had plenty of late night slots available in my diary. I found out everything I needed to know about everyone, whether by welcome invitation or secret visitation. There was no escaping my scrutiny.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, the party got (re)started. Two pieces down, eight (ish) to go...
> 
> The rest isn't going as smoothly as hoped. And, RL has decided to kick me in the head yet again. Completely destroyed the mood for finishing this all last week. 
> 
> Fortunately, I had got enough done, that picking it up again has quickly restored my enthusiasm.  
> I hope the rest will follow soon.
> 
> EDIT(June26): nope, sorry. Another week, another re-write. Ongoing RL impossibilities are affecting me far too much. I'm not going to put it away, though. I'll keep on chipping away until it's good enough to post.
> 
> EDIT2 (July11): oboy, I'm in a mess. Not only had I divided the chapter up into 9 pieces. I then went and subdivided piece 3 into 10 bits. Many of them overlapping and repeating. Like I was re-doing the remaining pieces.   
> So now I've got to blend two re-writes back into one. Ugh. Please bear with me.  
> On the plus side, the "optional" piece 9 is now a very enjoyable bit of story, that summarizes everything neatly. Ragnar the Red got a re-write, too. The creative juices are flowing OK. I'm just lacking the focus and direction to organise it into a flowing, coherent story.


	21. On the right track at last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not the next chapter. Just a placeholder to let you know where I'm at.

July 16:  
Wow, this has been some journey.

Just when I thought I was on the home stretch, I found I've made so many detours and wrong turns, that it's a right royal mess. I kept on finding bits I'd missed, or added into the wrong section of the duplicate pathway of this "piecewise" chapter. Last week's discovery that I had managed to start two repeats, and was working on twin stories that could never merge together, was both extremely confusing and disappointing. As I've alluded to many times in comments, RL is not being particularly kind to me these days. These kind of mistakes are common when I'm stressed (= distracted).

The good news is, that I have finally resolved how the storyline goes, and lumped together the bits of writing that belong.

The bad news? This one chapter now has 23 pieces. The first two are posted, and won't change. The rest need... fettling.  
Getting a consistent tone and approach for something that has been written and rewritten about ten times over two years, is seriously challenging.  
But hey, this is about how the jarl's regime was wrested from his grasp. So while there are more chapters to come, about the good deeds of Milk and Honey Co (and more. Much more), this one is also the most significant of them all. A later chapter leads on from it, too, so the details here are critically important.

Worse yet, is that I've been falling into a nasty trap. "Show, don't tell," is apprently a good way to write. Typically meaning lots of dialogue. Some of the bits I rewrote as dialogue, have gone from shorter than this summary, to an entire chapter in themselves. I think I'm going to stick to the originals. It seems to take me forever to say one thing in character speech. I guess I'm just bad at that, and should stick to my usual style.

Now that everything is placed where it should be, I can edit the pieces properly, with a very clear overview of how it fits into the story. It looks daunting and feels horrendous right now. Much worse than I had expected. As close as I thought I was to getting it finished, it looks further away than ever! But it's turned the corner, and getting better by the day. I just hope RL will let me have enough inspired days to get it published.

 

 

September 24:

The never-ending nightmare continues.

Various unlikely coincidences have conspired to make publishing this story as elusive as ever. Somewhat like the vanishingly small probability in the story, my RL has been equally unlikely, but in a bad way.

I am still chipping away at the story, and it is slowly heading to the finish line. The next piece is ready to publish, but the bits that follow still need work.

Unfortunately, I now have to park it for a few weeks. I have some serious priorities to take care of over the next month or two. Like, a home to live in for winter, and a car to drive. Neither of which are presently adequate beyond today.

I am sorry for the delay. This story will be finished someday. Not sure when, and I think I should stop promising a date. Whenever I commit to one, something really bad happens to make sure I can't deliver it.

 

 

October 28:

Everything is still very much in flux. Perhaps more importantly, my RL feelings have been boiling over into the story, completely changing the tone.

I could sense that when I wrote the last update, and I'm quite sure the "holiday"(parking it) was a good decision.

With some good fortune, I hope to have my RL situation resolved in the next week or two. It will be a month or two of hard graft after that, before I can realistically think of settling down to complete editing and posting R&J. Effectively, I'm having to pack up my belongings and move house a couple of hundred miles for the second time in 12 months. Properly sorting out the ramshackle mess after this much upheaval, is going to take years... But the PC and software and story is all still fully operational, so it's about priorities, once I'm resettled again. And this story becomes my main priority, once I have a home to live in again, and electricity to run the PC.

I might find the odd day or two to progress it, but I don't expect to get anything meaningful done much before Christmas. But I really hope to get it fully posted as a Christmas present.

 

 

December 6:

Oh, for a crystal ball...

I've just discovered that as little as 10 minutes effort on each of three days a year ago, could have avoided an entire year of impossible pain and inconvenience and drama. Too late now.

It's been 12 months of coping with with endless challenges associated with no electricity, no sanitation, and no heating. Freezing temperatures are not much fun in a draughty house with no heat source. I'm not complainig, just explaining that this wasn't what I had planned or expected, and if I had been able to find the right contacts last year, everything would have been so completely different. Not least of which, I'd have had this whole story finished long ago. Instead, running a laptop on a solar panel doesn't let me edit and write when I want to. Especially now winter's here.

Resolving this situation has proven impossibly difficult. It feels like every step forward is followed by two steps back. But I can see an end to it now, and things are definitely moving forward at last. 

Suffice to say, I really haven't been able to put any thought into the story recently, and it looks like I'll be spending the best part of December and January sorting out broken systems in a new home. And then moving to that home. Once I'm settled, I'll be posting for sure.

The hiatus has a silver lining. I can see I was getting too distracted on writing about stuff, and not moving the story along. That's why the problem chapter has ballooned into a whole new story. When I get back to it, I'll be able to trim it back to sharing the core of Romeo's better world for all.

Thanks for being patient.

 

 

March 4, 2018

Happy New Year.

Every year since 2006, I keep telling myself that "This year can't possibly be worse than last year. Can it?" Too right it can. And it has. And 2018 has not bucked the trend.

My elder brother died unexpectedly, aged 55, from a fatal heart attack. He's smoked 30 a day since his teens, didn't care that I couldn't breath any air that had any of his smoke in it, and escaped the lung cancer. But his blocked arteries proved to be the stealth assassin.

And now I'm back in the old country, dealing with his funeral and estate. I'll be stuck here for 3 to 6 months, selling his house after he's been properly seen off in a couple of weeks time. It means my new life is in greater limbo than ever.

On the plus side, it means I'll have mains electric to run the laptop and get the story finished, once the hard part is done with, and I'm just waiting for the house to sell.

We weren't close, so this isn't affecting me emotionally like it might, or should. But it does mean that there is yet more disruption in the way of getting this story sorted.

 


End file.
